


A Study in Gold

by WANMWAD



Series: Simplicity Itself [1]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Mystery, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 65,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9486212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WANMWAD/pseuds/WANMWAD
Summary: The year is 1881. Following an injury that ends her career as an army surgeon, Dr. Judy Hopps attempts to start a new life as a civilian in Zootopia, the largest and most powerful city the world has ever known. Her routine is interrupted, however, when she is drawn into the affairs of her flatmate, consulting detective Nicholas Wilde, and attempts with him to solve a baffling crime. Heavily inspired by the Sherlock Holmes stories, but featuring an original mystery.





	1. Chapter 1

_Being a Reprint from the Reminiscences of Judith L. Hopps, MD, Late of the Army Medical Department_

* * *

It was by a hairsbreadth that I came back from the war at all; had the bullet gone infinitesimally higher or lower, it surely would have severed my femoral artery and I would have perished on that dusty battlefield. As it was, only the quick action of my orderly Asena, a capable wolf whose pack loyalty fortuitously extended to me as her superior officer, saved me from falling to the guns, claws, and teeth of those bloodthirsty desert primitives. I scarcely recall Asena's noble act, however, as the pain of my wound and the loss of blood conspired to blur my memories of the battle to almost nothing until my wound was tended to in the base's hospital.

When three weeks had passed, I found myself holding out hope that my leg would mend and I could return to my work. Fate, however, seemed to have a different plan for me, for scarcely had I begun to leave my bed and wheel my chair around the hospital before I was struck by an enteric fever. It was, I am told, one of the worst outbreaks to have ever hit a hospital, and it burned through the wards with the terrible swiftness of a wildfire. Many good mammals fortunate enough to survive the battlefields met their end of that fever, and I very nearly joined them in whatever lies beyond life.

For months, I passed in and out of delirium, and when at last I had convalesced enough to take in my surroundings, I found my health permanently ruined and my commission resigned. It was, I confess, a crushing blow, the single greatest loss I had ever suffered up until that point. I had spent decades, my entire lifetime, working towards my dream of serving as an army surgeon, and the eleven shillings and sixpence a day from my pension was cold comfort indeed for the loss of my dream. Directionless, I found myself plotting a course for the only home I had ever truly known, for once I left the family farm I had lived, in essence, as a ward of the military.

The reader may find it a peculiar path that my life has followed, to go from being the daughter of a farmer to an army surgeon, and may find it more peculiar yet that I was both of those things and a bunny besides. I have even heard it intimated that my injury, and my subsequent discharge from the service, are all the proof that is necessary to demonstrate that bunnies are unsuited for the rigors of serving as an officer. To that, I will only comment here that it was misfortune, not incompetence, that took my career. For, were I truly not up to the task, what would it say of my fellows that I graduated from both medical school and officer school at the top of my class?

I digress, and beg pardon for doing so; the astute reader may infer that the issue is one that I hold particularly close. The train ride back to Bunny Burrows, where the Hopps farm has stood for generations immemorial, was long and likely unpleasant, but I was still so enfeebled by injury and illness that I passed most of it in sleep. I was sorry to realize that I had consequently missed the train's journey through Zootopia; in my life I had only ever visited the city once before as part of my medical training, and the army had, perhaps wisely, not granted us doctors-in-training so much as an hour's leave. My disappointment was, however, cut short by a brief flutter of worry when I awoke to find the train stopped and knew not the station. The end of the line was in Dearborne, a full day's journey away from Bunny Burrows by foot, and I fretted that I would have to bear the expense of a telegram and incur my parents' not inconsiderable propensity to worry if I had missed my stop.

As it transpired, however, the old Bunny Burrows station that I recalled from my youth had years ago been razed and replaced as the farming community grew ever more prosperous. The speed and convenience of the train allowed ever greater shipments of fresh produce into Zootopia to meet the great city's demands for food, as there was little enough arable land within its borders.

For all the changes that had been wrought in my long absence, however, the clean and fresh air of the countryside was undiminished, and once I was off the train and beyond its sooty exhaust my first lungful of that air brought with it a pleasant wave of remembrance. Although the station was far more crowded than I could ever recall it being in the days of my kithood, my parents were immediately identifiable to me; both were grayer and perhaps somewhat thicker around the middle than I recalled, but there was no mistaking the pair. The converse, however, did not appear to be true, for my father's and mother's eyes both slid over and past me until I waved in greeting. When recognition did dawn, neither of them was able to conceal their shock at seeing my greatly reduced appearance; I had lost four pounds, nearly a third of my body weight, to my illness and had gained hardly any of it back. So too did they fuss over me when they saw how exhausted I was after moving my footlocker the short distance off the train and onto the platform.

They had, fortunately, hired a horse and carriage to collect me, and I did my best to rest as they peppered me with questions and their concerns in the manner that I believe to be unique to parents. While the horse pulled us along, pointedly ignoring our conversation with a discretion that was somewhat atypical of his profession, I attempted gamely to divert them from their lines of inquiry with questions of my own. I was finally successful in getting the topic off of myself when I observed that the road was no longer the rutted dirt I remembered from my youth and was instead properly cobbled. My mother, always the more considerate of the pair, seemed to understand my intent and allowed my father to pontificate at length on the taxes being levied and the projects to which they went. With my father's words in my ears and the gently rocking of the carriage to lull me, I dozed off again and did not wake until we reached the homestead.

Although I was closer in age to my youngest sibling than to my oldest, my parents' home was still full; in typical bunny fashion most kits did not leave home even after they were married and had kits of their own. I was, in that regard, an outlier, having left for my schooling and being unmarried. I had not expected to receive my old room, and neither was I prepared for it to appear completely untouched from how I had left it all those years ago. Moving back in was as simple as placing my footlocker at the end of the bed; I had siblings enough to ensure that my near-total lack of civilian clothes could be easily addressed with hand-me-downs.

Having thus moved back in with my parents, I found myself settling into an unthinking routine as I attempted to regain my strength. When I awoke, I would take walks, going as long as I could manage with the aid of a stout cane. My bad leg and diminished constitution rendered me incapable of most farm work; I found standing for long stretches of time tiring in the extreme and my arms felt weak as twigs. I spent most days, therefore, peeling vegetables or else running the till at the family farm stand. Meals I habitually took alone, unable to muster the energy my nieces and nephews demanded. I fell behind on my correspondences, retiring to bed early each evening and sleeping until mid-morning each day. The days themselves eventually turned into weeks, and the weeks into months before I paused to assess my life.

My parents had made no demands of my meager pension, and I could have easily lived the rest of my life in the family home. They had hinted, with varying degrees of subtlety, at the eligible bachelors for whom a doctor, even one approaching the age of spinsterhood, would be an acceptable match. But what of it? The village doctor of my youth had retired and his grandson, the capable Doctor Cony, had taken up the position. Cony the younger and I were but a year's difference apart in age, and Bunny Burrows scarcely needed a sawbones such as myself. Although Cony was one of those eligible bachelors, and my parents played up his virtues most of all with talk of the suitability of two doctors for each other, I could hardly imagine a drearier life for a doctor than to serve the village. The village was well-provisioned with midwives, who were generally trusted to handle all matters of health from birth through the loss of the last milk-tooth. A career of setting the occasional broken bone and suturing the occasional gash held no appeal for me, but I could not name what did.

My mental misgivings were gradually beginning to outweigh my physical infirmities. Although I still tired easily, two-and-a-half months of progressively longer walks had restored some measure of my former strength. I began resuming my correspondences in earnest, reaching out to those I knew or had served with who had left the army, and within a few weeks the responses started trickling in. Despite my efforts, however, the offer that set in motion the next adventure of my life was not in response to any missive I sent out. The grubby envelope that was waiting for me after one of my walks was so battered and travel-worn that I felt an immediate kinship to it, even as the many stamps and scrawled words upon it awoke my curiosity.

My initial investigation was sufficient to divine that it had been sent shortly after my discharge and had seemingly traveled the length of the empire as the military rerouted it at each juncture before finally sending it on to the address that I had taken up with my parents. The return address was no mystery; it had come from Claude Boargelat, my first instructor in the medical sciences and a pig whose talent and passion for teaching had made a lasting impact upon me.

I have retained this letter, although time and handling have worn it almost to pieces, and it read as follows:

> _Dear Dr. Hopps,_
> 
> _I have received word of your injury and subsequent discharge from the service. I offer my most sincere condolences; although I cannot pretend to imagine your feelings, I know that the army is the poorer for its loss. Of all my students, you were one of all too few who saw the calling of medical service as just that and not a means to an end in the search for wealth or standing. I imagine that the army has pensioned you off with enough to eke out a modest existence, but I somehow find myself doubting that you would choose that path._
> 
> _If you_ are _seeking a new path, St. Assisi's Teaching Hospital in Zootopia could use a surgeon of your caliber to instruct the next generation of doctors; I can promise neither a status any grander than that of teaching fellow nor much in the way of compensation, but perhaps you may find a single class a semester entirely sufficient as you regain your strength. If you find your interest piqued, even if for but a single semester, please wire me back; although I do not retain a permanent residence in the city my office shall set your message to me straightaway._
> 
> _Your friend,_
> 
> _Dr. C. Boargelat_

That, I supposed, settled my next action; lacking any suitable alternative I resolved to immediately journey to the train station, the only locale in Bunny Burrows with a telegraph, and wire a message to Dr. Boargelat's office.


	2. Chapter 2

In short order, I had made the necessary arrangements to take up a position as a teaching fellow at St. Assisi's, although due to the long delay between when Dr. Boargelat's letter was posted and when I received it, I would have to wait nearly three months for the next semester to begin before I could take up my newfound duties as an educator. The prudent course of action would have been to delay my departure to the city until nearer to when my contract began and ensure that I had adequate lodgings lined up, but I found myself so filled with excitement that I could not bear any further wait. I would take the time available to me as a holiday, I decided, and live out of a hotel as I got to know Zootopia. My parents were somewhat disappointed to learn of my pending departure, having grown used to my presence back on the farm and despairing of what could happen in the city. Although I love and cherish my parents deeply, I confess that I have always found it easier to do so from a distance. This thought of mine, while lacking the proper filial piety, was only reinforced at the Bunny Burrows train station when my parents and an assortment of my siblings and their kits came to see me off.

As a former campaigner, I had packed simply, leaving with only the same footlocker I had brought with me, although additional clothes and fresh produce had been added to render it quite a bit fuller than it had been at the time of my arrival. When my train at last arrived and the mammals aboard it had departed, my father stayed my paw before I could board. "Wait a moment, my dear," he said.

He pressed a cardboard box into my paws, small but quite heavy. It was, I saw by its label, fifty bullets of the .476 caliber, suited to my personal firearm, although I could not guess where he had found a store in Bunny Burrows from which to buy the box. "I trust you have packed your service revolver?" he asked.

"I hardly think that I should need it," I replied, although it was true that I had packed the weapon.

Indeed, I had included it in my meager belongings more as a memento than out of any expectation of use; until my father had given me the box of bullets I had not had any ammunition for it since before leaving the service, and had neglected its care for the same length of time. "The city is dangerous, Judith," he said, "Will you not ease our worry?"

I attempted to keep my displeasure from showing, although I do not believe that I was entirely successful. It was true that my parents had refrained from pointing out, as they rightly could have, that their fears for what could have happened to me as an army officer had been borne out. Still, it struck me as the height of ridiculousness to assume that I would find myself in need of a weapon working as a doctor at one of the largest and most prestigious hospitals in the city. "What say you of this, then?" I asked my mother, holding out the box of bullets.

"You would not be remiss to be prepared," she said quietly, worry plainly written across her face.

"Your father's concerns are perhaps overzealous," she said, with a glance in his direction (I would later learn she had convinced my father against pressing a shotgun onto me), "But what is the harm?"

I placed the box of ammunition into one of the outer pockets of my service jacket and pulled my parents into a hug. "Very well," I said, "But I must board now if I am to make it to Zootopia along with the train."

* * *

The first two weeks in the city were some of the most pleasant and yet emptiest that I have ever spent. As I had expected from his first letter and the subsequent communication that I enjoyed with his office, my old instructor Claude Boargelat was not in the city and I had neither kith nor kin with which to spend the time. Instead, I explored the city, especially its restaurants and music halls, as best I could considering my still-fragile health. It was only when I was balancing my pocketbook that I realized that I had spent my money far more freely than I ought to. Even adding the payment that I would earn as an instructor to that which I drew from my pension did not yield nearly enough to cover my expenses at their current rate, and I would, of course, receive no payment from St. Assisi's until I began to fulfill my obligations by teaching. The inescapable conclusion that I came to was that, should I not manage to live a more frugal existence, I would in short order find myself turned out on the street.

I thereafter resolved immediately to begin cutting my expenses by finding a more permanent lodging than the hotel in which I had been staying; I had indulged by choosing a room at the Palms, which while quite luxurious and conveniently located atop one of the Underground's stops, consumed on its own nearly three-quarters of my income with my upcoming pay factored into the equation.

On the very day that I had come to this conclusion I had just purchased the morning edition of the Times to begin my perusal of the classifieds when someone tapped me on the shoulder, and turning round I recognized young Ramford, who had begun her training as a nurse in the same year that I had earned my medical degree. The sight of the sheep's friendly face in what was otherwise the great wilderness of Zootopia was a pleasant thing indeed to a lonely mammal. In old days Ramford had never been a particular crony of mine, but now I hailed her with enthusiasm, and she, in her turn, appeared to be delighted to see me. In the exuberance of my joy, I asked her to lunch with me at the Hartebeest, and we started off together in a hansom.

"Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Hopps?" she asked in undisguised wonder, as we rattled through the crowded Zootopian streets. "You are as thin as a reed, and look nearly as fragile."

I gave her a short sketch of my adventures, and had hardly concluded it by the time that we reached our destination.

"Poor devil!" she said, commiseratingly, after she had listened to my misfortunes, "What are you up to now?"

"Looking for lodgings," I answered. "Trying to solve the problem as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable price."

"That's a strange thing," remarked my companion; "you are the second mammal to-day that has used that expression to me."

"And who was the first?" I asked.

"A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory up at the hospital. He was bemoaning himself this morning because he could not get someone to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which he did not think he could get alone."

"By Jove!" I cried, "if he really wants someone to share the rooms and the expense, I am the very mammal for him. I should prefer having a partner to being alone."

My parents would doubtlessly be horrified to hear that I was considering a strange mammal as my fellow-lodger, and a male besides, but I did not share all of their ideas of propriety; military service had seen to that. Additionally, despite my initial reluctance to take the bullets my father had proffered, I had spent my first night in Zootopia breaking down, oiling, and reassembling my revolver, and its familiar weight rested in a pocket of my jacket. Six rounds from an Elkfield was likely sufficient deterrent should the mammal of which Ramford spoke take any untoward ideas into his head. It was the truth, however, that I very much desired to not rattle around a set of rooms alone; the luxury of the size of my room at the Palms had increasingly struck me more as mere emptiness that I would have been glad to fill with companionship.

Young Ramford looked rather strangely at me over her wine-glass. "You don't know Nicholas Wilde yet," she said, "Perhaps you would not care for him as a constant companion."

"Why, what is there against him?"

"Oh, I didn't say there was anything against him. He is a little queer in his ideas—an enthusiast in some branches of science. As far as I know he is a decent fellow enough."

"A medical student, I suppose?" said I.

"No—I have no idea what he intends to go in for. I believe he is well up in anatomy, and he is a first-class chemist; but, as far as I know, he has never taken out any systematic medical classes. His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the way knowledge which would astonish his professors."

"Did you never ask him what he was going in for?" I asked.

"No; he is not a mammal that it is easy to draw out, though he can be communicative enough when the fancy seizes him."

"I should like to meet him," I said, "If I am to lodge with anyone, I should prefer a mammal of studious and quiet habits. I am not strong enough yet to stand much noise or excitement. I had enough of both in the service to last me for the remainder of my natural existence. How could I meet this friend of yours?"

"He is sure to be at the laboratory," returned my companion, "He either avoids the place for weeks, or else he works there from morning to night. If you like, we shall drive round together after luncheon."

"Certainly," I answered, and the conversation drifted away into other channels.

As we made our way to Zootopia General Hospital—for it was there that Ramford worked—after leaving the Hartebeest, Ramford gave me a few more particulars about the mammal whom I proposed to take as a fellow-lodger.

"You mustn't blame me if you don't get on with him," she said, "I know nothing more of him than I have learned from meeting him occasionally in the laboratory. You proposed this arrangement, so you must not hold me responsible."

"If we don't get on it will be easy to part company," I answered.

"It seems to me, Ramford," I added, looking hard at my companion, "That you have some reason for washing your paws of the matter. Is this fellow's temper so formidable, or what is it? Don't be mealy-mouthed about it."

"It is not easy to express the inexpressible," she answered with a laugh, "But there are a few points for which I shall attempt to prepare you. First, he is a predator. A fox, in fact."

It was true that foxes had been the natural enemy of rabbits, so long ago in the past as to be well out of mind for all but the most diligent of archaeologists, but that hardly mattered to me in the present. As rabbits, and other prey, had passed from our primitive origins and built society, so too had foxes and other predators been brought along and integrated as best their nature would allow. "Is that all?," I asked, "You forget that I have served in the army, an organization well-populated with predators, although no foxes that I can recall. If wolves and coyotes can be taught, through military discipline, to behave in a civilized manner, I have no doubts that a fox could be taught the same by whatever professors have attempted to teach him in the sciences."

"That is the other point," Ramford admitted, "He is if anything too scientific in his manner concerning his work, and yet all else may be as a joke to him."

I shrugged it off. "I have seen many doctors pushed to eccentricities by the demands of their profession. Surely, as a nurse, you have seen the same."

Yes, but it may be pushed to excess. When it comes to beating the subjects in the dissecting-rooms with a stick, it is certainly taking rather a bizarre shape."

"Beating the subjects!"

"Yes, to verify how far bruises may be produced after death. I saw him at it with my own eyes."

"And yet you say he is not a medical student?"

"No. If there is any purpose to his studies, I have not divined it."

As she spoke, we turned down a narrow lane and passed through a small side-door, which opened into a wing of the great hospital. It was vaguely familiar to me, for Zootopia General was the very same hospital in which I had previously attended a set of lectures as part of my training. Besides that, hospitals are in my experience very alike in layout; the white-washed walls and dun-colored floors could have belonged to practically any other hospital. Ramford lead me to the end of the corridor and stopped before a stout door. "Here we are," she said as she swung the door open, "You must form your own impressions about him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, a huge thanks to my roommate, the incredible SR, who has provided cover images for my first story, Black and White, Red and Blue, as well as this one. She doesn’t have an account I can link to, but if she changes her mind, I’ll update this comment to make sure she gets the credit. I think she did a great job! Check them out here:
> 
>  
> 
> [Cover Images](http://imgur.com/a/AoGBW)
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter draws pretty heavily from the very beginning of A Study in Scarlet, but we are going to be getting into the actual mystery (and meeting Nick) pretty soon. One of the criticisms that my last story got was that it took a while to get going; this one should move somewhat faster, but I need to lay down the foundation and set the scene first, as the Victorian era was pretty different.
> 
> Indeed, one of Arthur Conan Doyle’s contemporaries was Rudyard Kipling, who in addition to writing children’s stories like The Jungle Book also wrote The White Man’s Burden. If you’ve never read it, it’s exactly as racist as you’d guess; the titular burden is the idea that the European and American powers have the responsibility to colonize and civilize the people of Africa, Asia, America, and India for their own good. It’s an attitude that also shows up in the original Sherlock Holmes stories; in The Sign of Four, for example, Watson is pretty unabashedly racist and a firm supporter of the British Empire. However, I think that it’s also important to recognize that we shouldn’t write off all the people of the 19th century as being racist. Even at the time that The White Man’s Burden was published, there were those (like Mark Twain) who saw it for what it was: a racist justification for colonialism and the associated plundering of resources.
> 
> I’ve extrapolated a bit, so I suppose that you could call it the prey’s burden in this story, the view that civilization and cooperation is something innate to prey that has to be taught to predators in order for them to function in society. It’s one of the ways that I’m merging character elements across the Sherlock and Zootopia canons; Dr. Hopps is more prejudiced than Officer Hopps ever was, but in a somewhat different way that’s still pretty patronizing. It came up a little in the first chapter (note the way in which Dr. Hopps refers to her orderly’s actions), came up more in this chapter, and will continue to be a running thread throughout the story. What this means for the relationship of Dr. Hopps and consulting detective Wilde is something that will take a while to reach fruition, but there’s a lot of story left.


	3. Chapter 3

The hospital's chemical laboratory had a lofty ceiling quite at odds with the configuration of the rest of the room, which was scarcely twice the width of the corridor we had come in from. Tables were set on either side of a central aisle, littered with a dizzying assortment of beakers, flasks, and little Bunsen lamps glowing with blue flames. The room had but a single occupant, bent over one table and seemingly entirely absorbed by his work. His ears flicked in the direction of our footsteps, and he spun round, springing to his feet with a cry of pleasure. "I've found it! I've found it," he shouted to my companion, running towards us with a little ceramic bowl in his paw, "An entirely fool-proof test for arsenic."

"Dr. Hopps, Mr. Nicholas Wilde," said Ramford introducing us.

I perceived on her face a sort of wry amusement at Wilde's behavior, which seemed entirely too self-pleased to match the little bowl with its silver-black smudge upon it.

"How are you?" he asked cordially, and it was though he was slipping on a mask, so rapidly did his prior delight give way to a genial aloofness.

He shook my paw with a strength that I would not have guessed at, considering his lithe build, but I supposed that no matter what else he was, he was a predator. "I expect you shall find Zootopia rather more exciting than farming in the countryside," he said, "And rather less so than military service in the middle east."

"How on earth did you know from whence I came?" I asked in astonishment.

"Never mind," said he, chuckling to himself. "The question now is about arsenic. No doubt you see the significance of this discovery of mine?"

"It is interesting, chemically, no doubt," I answered, "but practically—"

"Why, it is the most practical chemico-legal discovery for years. Don't you see that it gives us an infallible test for arsenic poisoning? Come over here now!"

He seized me by the coat-sleeve in his eagerness, causing me to stumble a bit as I attempted to retain my balance with my cane, and drew me over to the table at which he had been working. "Let us have some white arsenic," he said, deftly scooping a minute amount of a fine powder from a brown glass bottle labeled with a skull over the text "Arsenic Trioxide."

"Now, I add this small quantity of arsenic to a liter of water. You perceive that the resulting mixture has the appearance of pure water, with no tell-tale odor or discoloration to indicate the vile surprise that it holds. The proportion of arsenic to water cannot be more than one in a million. I have no doubt, however, that we shall be able to obtain the characteristic reaction."

As he spoke, he fiddled with two additional small brown bottles and an assembly of glass flasks ending in a small tube. Using a syringe, he deftly drew off a quantity of his arsenic-tainted water and added it to one of the flasks along with a quantity of liquid from one bottle and a silvery powder from the other. "By the addition of oil of vitriol and zinc, it is possible to liberate the arsenic into its gaseous form as arsine, along with a quantity of hydrogen gas, which can be ignited as so."

He held one of the Bunsen lamps up to the tube coming off of the flask in which his various additions were bubbling away. Immediately, the gas coming off the mixture caught fire and he held another ceramic bowl into the resulting flame with a set of tongs. Gradually, a silver-black smudge formed, quite similar to the one that he had first showed us.

"Ha! ha!" he cried, clapping his paws, and looking as delighted as a kit with a new toy. "What do you think of that?"

"It seems to me a most delicate test," I remarked.

"Delicate is not the half of it!" he said, "With this test, the old _poudre de succession_ is rendered entirely obsolete. Once word of this method reaches the ears of impatient heirs the world over, I have no doubt that they will resort to other methods or else give up their designs on murder entirely."

"Indeed," I murmured.

"Many experts, including those of your esteemed profession, find it all but impossible to distinguish between arsenic poisoning and cholera or other such diseases, particularly when suspicions of poisoning arise only after the body has begun its putrefaction. Now, we have Nicholas Wilde's test, which a clever kit could conduct, and there will no longer be any difficulty."

His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his paw over his heart and bowed deeply with an elaborate flourish, as though he were at a podium before a cheering crowd and not in front of a mere two mammals.

"You are to be congratulated," I remarked, considerably surprised at his enthusiasm.

"Why, had this method been discovered earlier, I can think of no less than half a dozen mammals in the past year who would have faced the executioner's justice. Should I go back a decade, I could name a score of cases in which it would have been decisive."

"You seem to be a walking encyclopedia of crime," said Ramford with a laugh. "You might start a paper on those lines. Call it the 'Police News of the Past.'"

"Very interesting reading it might be made, too," remarked Nicholas Wilde, taking his flask of poisoned water and pouring it down a drain.

"I have to be careful," he continued, turning to me with a smile, "For I am not the only one who uses this lab, and some of the others are not so careful."

"We came here on business," said Ramford, sitting down on a high three-legged stool, and pushing another one in my direction with her foot. "My friend here wants to take diggings, and as you were complaining that you could get no one to go halves with you, I thought that I had better bring you together."

Nicholas Wilde seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms with me. "I have my eye on a suite in Barker Street," he said, "The landlady, alas, seems quite set against renting it out to a single fox, but I imagine that her objections would be entirely eliminated should I share the lodgings with a mammal such as yourself."

"Such backwards thinking should have no place in the modern era," I said, finding myself outraged on his behalf, "You may be a fox, but clearly you are quite the bright fellow, and articulate as well besides to explain the results of your work so concisely."

"Well, that is high praise indeed," Wilde said, a small smile playing across his muzzle, "And of such a kind that I rarely hear expressed in so humble a manner."

"But I suppose it only fair, before I rope you into splitting a flat with me, that I give fair warning of my own habits. You don't object to strong tobacco, do you?" he asked.

"I am not a smoker myself, but my father and some of my brothers smoke 'Sheep's'," I answered, "I should find it a reminder of home."

"That's good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and occasionally do experiments. Would that annoy you?"

"By no means."

"Let me see—what are my other shortcomings. I may have the occasional caller, but never in the common area should that displease you. What have you to confess now? It's just as well for two mammals to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together."

I laughed at this cross-examination. "I should very much like to live quietly, for I have had quite a bit of excitement in my life already, and I have not quite resumed anything resembling a normal sleep schedule, so I will likely sleep the mornings away with some regularity. I have another set of vices when I'm well, but those are the principal ones at present."

"Would you consider violin-playing to be a disruption of living quietly?" he asked, with some apparent anxiety.

"It depends on the player," I answered, "A well-played violin is a treat for the gods—a badly-played one—"

"Oh, that's all right," he cried, with a merry laugh. "I think we may consider the thing as settled—that is, if the rooms are agreeable to you."

"When shall we see them?"

"Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and we'll go together and settle everything," he answered.

"All right—noon exactly," said I, shaking his paw.

Ramford and I left Wilde working among his chemicals, and we walked out of the hospital, loitering near the main street entrance. I attempted to summon a hansom to take me back to my hotel; although I was serious about my desire to reduce my expenses, the walk back to it was more than I felt that I could bear at the moment. At last, one approached and came to a stop at our feet.

"By the way," I asked suddenly, stopping before I got in and turning upon Ramford, "How the deuce did he know that I had come from the countryside and the middle east before that?"

My companion smiled an enigmatic smile. "That's just his little peculiarity," he said, "A good many mammals have wanted to know how he finds things out."

"Oh! a mystery is it?" I cried, rubbing my paws, "This is very piquant. I am much obliged to you for bringing us together; it seems as though providence itself has put first you in my path and then him after."

"You must study him, then," Ramford said, as she bade me good-bye.

"You'll find him a _knotty_ problem, though, should you take to examine him deeply," she added, with an insouciant wink.

"There is no need to be vulgar," I answered, although I took no offense at her implication.

Some few ribald comments at the expense of two mammals of opposite genders proposing to live together was to be expected, and so long as it never arose above that I would not mind her little jokes. While I did not find Wilde to be of any interest in the particular way in which Ramford had suggested, I was considerably interested in my new acquaintance, and I found my thoughts consumed by him on the entire ride back to my hotel.

* * *

We met the next day, as we had arranged, and inspected the rooms that comprised 221B Barker Street. They consisted of a couple of comfortable bed-rooms and a single large airy sitting-room, cheerfully furnished, and illuminated by two broad windows. I perceived that the landlady, an ancient armadillo, seemed to warm up to me quite a bit more than she did to Wilde, and was quite eager to strike the bargain upon finding out that I was a doctor. That very evening I moved my things round from the hotel, which again consisted solely of my faithful footlocker, and on the following morning Nicholas Wilde followed me with several boxes and portmanteaus. While it took me no more than an hour to unpack my belongings and set up my bed-room to my liking, it took Wilde a day or two of industrious unpacking and fussy rearrangement until he was satisfied that the arrangements were to his taste. That done, we gradually settled into our new surroundings.

Wilde was certainly not difficult to live with. He was quiet in his ways, and his habits were regular. Although I had initially suspected that as a fox he would hold to a nocturnal schedule, it was rare for him to be up after ten at night, and he had invariably breakfasted and gone out before I rose in the morning. Sometimes he spent his day at the chemical laboratory, sometimes in the dissecting-rooms, and occasionally in long walks, which appeared to take him into the lowest portions of Zootopia, among the kind of company that I could only guess at.

As the weeks went by, my interest in him and my curiosity as to his aims in life, gradually deepened and increased. His very appearance was such as to strike the attention of the most casual observer. In height he was perhaps four feet tall, but so lean that he seemed considerably taller, at least from my perspective. His eyes were glittering green and while hooded and lazy at most times, appeared almost to see through objects, so intense was his gaze when he put his focus on something. His features were sharp and angular, softened only somewhat by the longer fur near the nape of his neck. His paws were invariably blotted with ink and stained with chemicals, yet he was possessed of extraordinary delicacy of touch, as I frequently had occasion to observe when I watched him manipulating his fragile philosophical instruments. The dichotomy between the gentleness of a civilized mammal and his inborn predatory cunning was tipped very much in the favor of the former, and I had no occasion to complain about his behavior. I had not, however, learned the nature of his business, and I took it as a challenge to find it out on my own.

The reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody, when I confess how much this mammal stimulated my curiosity, and might also accuse me of the sort of interest at which Ramford had teased, considering the lengths that I went to in my attempts to coax out of Wilde some greater discourse on the nature of his business. Before pronouncing judgment, however, be it remembered how little there was to engage my attention. Although it was true that I was developing lesson plans for the class I was preparing to teach, such an activity could scarcely occupy all of my time. My health, too, remained fragile; I do not think that the city air helped along my recovery at all, and on the days in which the quicksilver in the weather glass dropped, the ache in my leg forbade me from venturing too far. I had no friends who would call upon me and break the monotony of my daily existence. Under these circumstances, I eagerly hailed the little mystery which hung around my companion, and spent much of my time in endeavoring to unravel it.

During the first week or so we had no callers, and I had begun to think that my companion was as friendless as I was myself. Presently, however, I found that he had not been lying when he told me that he took callers, for he appeared to have many acquaintances, and those in the most different classes of society and type of mammal. There was one stern-looking elephant who was introduced to me as Ms. Trunkaby, and who came three or four times in a single week. One morning a young porcupine called, fashionably dressed, and stayed for half an hour or more. The same afternoon brought a rather disreputable-looking weasel, who appeared to me to be much excited, and who was closely followed by a slip-shod elderly horse mare. On another occasion an old white-furred squirrel had an interview with my companion; and on another a platypus in the velveteen uniform of a railway porter. When any of these nondescript individuals put in an appearance, Nicholas Wilde used to beg for the use of the sitting-room, and I would retire to my bed-room. He always apologized to me for putting me to this inconvenience. "I have to use this room as a place of business," he said, "And these people are my clients."

I had an opportunity of asking him a point blank question, but my desire to unravel the mystery myself won over. I imagined at the time that he had some strong reason for not alluding to it, but he soon dispelled the idea when a rather remarkable set of circumstances brought him round to it.

* * *

It was upon the eleventh of October, a day that I have good reason to remember for the nature of the events that followed, that I returned late in the evening to the flat with an armful of books from St. Assisi's medical library, having endeavored to put to bed my lesson plans. When I swung the door open, I called out a greeting that died on my lips, for what my eyes met was the single most disreputable mammal that I have ever seen. An evil-looking little coyote with mangy fur the color of rotting straw and dressed in clothes little better than rags had a rough sack at his feet and one of Wilde's delicate philosophical instruments in his paw, halfway between the sack and the table that it had rested.

The books and my cane fell out of my paws with a clatter as I reached into the pocket of my coat and drew forth my revolver. I had not practiced with it in months, but I had ever been a crack shot and I could hardly miss at a distance of ten feet. "Hold, villain!" I cried, fixing the coyote in my sights, "You'll come with me to the constabulary or I swear you shall die here."

To my great surprise, the coyote burst into a gale of laughter. "Peace, Dr. Hopps," he said, raising his arms up, "I am grateful you give warning before you shoot, but I do not think our landlady would much appreciate the mess if you do, though she may be rather glad to be rid of me."

The voice was as familiar as the mammal's countenance was not. "Wilde?" I asked, allowing the barrel of my weapon to drop.

"The one and same," the coyote said, and as he spoke the very manner in which he carried himself shifted and I recognized the familiar features of my fellow-lodger hidden beneath layers of what must have been one of the most complete disguises ever assembled.

"Why the devil are you dressed so? I could very well have shot you as an intruder!"

"I have already expressed my gratitude that you did not," he replied with a chuckle, "And as for your first question, I have oftentimes found it preferable, in my line of work, to not be immediately recognized. In some parts of the city I am afraid that my reputation very greatly precedes me."

"And what line of work is that?" I challenged.

In that moment, I had finally had enough of attempting to tease the answer out of him or deduce it on my own. Wilde did not answer me immediately, instead carefully placing his fragile little assembly of wire and glass on his table; I perceived that he had been in the process of emptying the bag, not filling it. "You see, I have made a great study of crime, and of criminals and their methods," he said finally.

It seemed likely the sort of knowledge he would have acquired first-hand, as it were, considering his appearance, but I did not voice my thought. "There is a remarkable resemblance about misdeeds, and if you have all the details of a thousand at your finger ends, it would be rather more peculiar if you couldn't unravel the thousand and first than if you could. I'm a consulting detective, if you can understand what that is. Here in Zootopia we have lots of Government detectives and lots of private ones. When these fellows are at fault they come to me, and I manage to put them on the right scent. They lay all the evidence before me, and I am generally able, by the help of my knowledge of the history of crime and my ability to observe facts and deduce the connections between them, to set them straight."

"All your callers were detectives?" I asked with no small amount of skepticism.

"Not all, no. They are mostly sent on by private inquiry agencies. They are all mammals who are in trouble about something, and want a little enlightening. I listen to their story, they listen to my comments, and then I pocket my fee."

He laid it out so simply, but I retained my doubts that such a story could be true. "I see written plainly in your face your skepticism,"my companion remarked, "Perhaps a demonstration is in order. I did not answer your question when first we met, but I shall answer now how I discerned that you were a farmer turned solider, recently returned from the middle east."

"You were told," I said, though I could not possibly imagine the circumstances under which Ramford could have made the details of my life known to Wilde ahead of our meeting.

"I deduced it," he said, "And I shall illustrate how quite clearly."

I was quite skeptical of his claim, but perfectly willing to humor him. Wilde tented his fingers and paused a moment before he began. "Your service in the middle east was easily deduced from your shemagh."

"My shemagh?" I questioned, glancing at the garment where it hung on a hook near the door.

It was true that I had picked it up in the middle east during my service, paying a pittance for a truly magnificent headscarf. It was perhaps a tad too long, the ends going past the hem of my jacket unless I doubled it round my neck twice, but it was made of the finest pashmina with a striking black and white pattern that was almost, but not quite, houndstooth in appearance. Fall was in full swing in Zootopia, and I had taken to wearing it as a scarf to ward off the chill; I still had far too little substance to my frame and my winter coat had not yet begun to fill in, so I oftentimes found myself cold while out of doors.

"Indeed," he replied serenely, "Although vulgar replicas, in the form of a standard scarf, were quite in fashion among the working class three or four years ago, it was immediately apparent to my eye that yours is authentic in both style and substance, being made of pashmina, not a cotton print as was the fad. The only place such a splendid piece of work could have originated from is the middle east, for it shows the subtle imperfections that mark it as having been made by paw and not in a textile mill by machine."

While his deduction made a certain logical sense, I would not allow the point to slide. "That only tells you from whence the shemagh came, not the manner in which I acquired it."

Wilde seemed delighted by my objection. "Quite so, dear doctor. I see that little will go past you. The truth is that my deductions depend not on any single factor but on the synthesis of many, for a fact may in isolation point in quite opposite directions."

He tamped his pipe before continuing. "Consider, in your case, your jacket. It is unmistakably an officer's service jacket with the rank insignia and other decorations removed. Surplus, perhaps, but for the military precision with which you carry yourself, which once trained in is almost never unlearned. Your jacket and your bearing, therefore, mark you as a veteran, and the shemagh, along with the darker spots on your jacket where the patches prevented the cloth from sun-bleaching like the rest of the garment, tell me that you served in the middle east. This judgment is, I think, only strengthened by your watch chain, which is plain steel and shows every indication of use, yet has neither spots of rust nor marks where you scoured it away, telling me your service was not in a damp clime. Further, it is plainly obvious that you have recently been ill, which suggests strongly a disease picked up abroad when the other factors are taken into account."

"And that I came from the country and was a farmer?" I challenged.

"Leaving aside that you are a bunny, and bunnies are more frequently farmers than not, let us return to your watch chain. It is inexpensive, yet functional, suggesting the sort of frugality common to farmers and either a lack of funds or a disinclination to waste them, marking you as not belonging to the landed gentry for whom it is a trivial matter to become a doctor. Your trousers, as well, were well cared for, but were clearly cut for a buck, not a doe, and many years out of fashion. They showed no small amount of wear at the knees, suggesting farm work; I therefore deduced that following your injury in the service you returned to a farm—which by necessity must be in the countryside—and augmented your wardrobe with garments handed down by older siblings."

"Incredible!" I cried, astounded at how minutely he had been able to read my appearance.

"It was simplicity itself," Wilde replied, but I could see the satisfaction he took at having impressed me, "But I beg you excuse me a moment so that I may restore my appearance."

He disappeared into his bed-room, and returned half an hour later in his typical tweed suit looking entirely like a fox.

"Was it a case that you were on, then?" I asked eagerly upon his return.

"One that I have solved quite to my satisfaction," he said with a nod, taking a seat, "I can tell you the details, should you wish, but it appears that another case is making its way to my door."

He gestured with his pipe out the window, where I saw, in the dim glow of the streetlights, a wolf stepping purposefully out of a hansom cab and making his way towards our set of rooms. A moment later, there was a knock upon the door, and when Wilde answered it the very same wolf stood across the opening. He was larger even than Wilde, almost twice the fox's height, and dressed plainly in a dark suit. "Message for Nicholas Wilde," he said, handing an envelope over to my companion.

Wilde took it and went to close the door, but the wolf reached out and grabbed it, holding it in place with no apparent effort. "I'm to hold the cab and wait for a response," he said by way of explanation.

Wilde's ears flicked briefly back in apparent annoyance. "You can do so outside, then," he said, and stared the taller mammal down until the wolf nodded and removed his paw from the door.

Wilde shut the door and sank back into his chair, then quickly scanned the letter and gave it over to me. "See this, then," he said, "What do you make of it?"

The letter was written on the finest quality bond paper, and when I held it nearer to the gas lamp to read it—lacking my companion's superlative low light vision—I saw a subtle "L" watermark worked into it. In contrast to the quality of the paper, however, the writing was uneven and quite difficult to decipher.

_My dear Mr. Nicholas Wilde,_ [it read]

_There has been a bad business last night or sometime to-day at the Zootopia branch of the Lemmings Brothers Bank. Some two tonnes of gold have been stolen without the slightest clue as to the method or the culprit. Come at once if you are able, else I shall be by later with greater details._

_-F.T._

"This is extraordinary!" I cried, "A bank robbed of two tonnes of gold!"

I could scarcely imagine how such a thing could be done without leaving the slightest trace, or even how so great a quantity could be transported away should it be successfully stolen. Wilde, meanwhile, simply yawned widely and settled himself back into his chair. "I have no interest in ordinary crimes," he remarked, "And this sounds, to use your word, _extraordinary_ only in its scale."

"Surely that makes it of some interest?" I asked, incredulous that my companion could be so blase about what was surely the crime of the decade at least.

"None whatsoever," he replied, taking a draw from his pipe, "Did you not notice what the letter itself and its method of delivery said, regardless of its contents?"

"Only that it was written by a mammal in a great hurry," I said.

Wilde nodded. "That is a fair beginning," he said, "But far from the end. There is no doubt that the paper came from Lemming Brothers Bank, correct?"

I recalled the watermark and nodded my agreement. "Such a fine piece of paper would not be left by the tellers, where any passers by could use it for scrap. No, it must have come from the desk of one of the officers of the bank," he said.

"Not unusual, I would suppose, if the robbery is so grand as the letter claims."

Wilde inclined his head in response. "But it is not written by the paw of a bank officer. No, there is no mistaking the initials or distinctive strokes of Inspector Francine Trunkaby, who I believe you have met on one or two occasions."

I recalled a dour elephant to whom I had been briefly introduced, but at the time my fellow-lodger had given no indication that she was an officer of the law. "And should not an inspector be present after a bank robbery?" I asked.

Wilde shook his head disapprovingly. "Consider how events fit together! Trunkaby is as dull and unimaginative an officer as the police ever turned out and consequently quite predictable. Were this to proceed in the regular fashion, she would have visited herself, in the flesh. Instead, she is in the office of a bank officer—the president, unless I miss my mark very much—and in quite a hurry, as you may judge by the spacing of the letters and the smudges where the ink was neither blotted nor allowed to dry fully before it was put in the envelope. Obviously, she could not solve the crime on her own—unsurprising, really—and therefore schemes to draw me in with a letter. The letter is delivered by a wolf who can only be from the bank's own security force and holds for me a carriage, awaiting a reply or my presence. The bank is going to great lengths to ensure that this is all resolved before anyone can learn of the theft, inform the papers, and cause a run on the deposits. And that, therefore, means that this is an unworthy mystery with no recognition to be earned but that from Trunkaby herself, which I already have in its grudging full measure. No, I shall respond that I am otherwise indisposed on a most pressing matter."

As he spoke the last, he began to gather up pen and paper. "Are you not the least curious as to how the deed was done?" I asked.

"I shall find a better case on which to focus my talents," he said.

"I don't believe you can," I said, "Nor do I believe that you would pass on this case else you did not think you could solve it."

A curious gleam entered his eyes and he put down his pen. "Very well," he said, and instead grabbed his hat and coat from their customary position by the door.

He paused with his paw on the doorknob. "Are you not coming?" he asked.

I was surprised by his offer, but I had little else to do. "I suppose I must, if only to see for myself if you really can solve it."

A minute later we were both in the waiting hansom alongside the wolf, setting off for the bank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I get to my notes for this particular chapter, I have a question to pose. In the comments for my last story, PseudoFox and L.A.Julian both expressed interest in reading a straight up drama, without any mystery, about two of the secondary characters (Heather Leaves and Bruce Newcastle). It made me curious: what kinds of story do you, as a reader, want to read? I'd be interested in knowing as I plan out my next few works.
> 
> Now, onto the notes for the chapter itself:
> 
> This chapter is a bit longer than usual, since my chapters tend to run between 2,000 and 3,000 words and this one clocks in at 5,359, but I was eager to get to the main characters meeting and on to the mystery itself, and I figured that you wouldn't mind not having to wait another week before getting to all of that.
> 
> The test that Nick describes is, to the best of my ability, an accurate description of the Marsh Test, invented in 1836 by the British chemist James Marsh. It's a clever bit of chemistry, using sulfuric acid (referred to in this chapter as oil of vitriol, an archaic name for it) and pure zinc to react with the test sample, producing arsine gas if the test sample contained arsenic. The arsenic can then be collected on a piece of ceramic, and compared to the result of a sample with a known arsenic concentration. It's true that white arsenic, referring to arsenic trioxide, really was commonplace as a method of poisoning, since it was difficult to definitively detect prior to the Marsh Test and white arsenic was readily available. The French term poudre de succession, meaning "inheritance powder" was a nickname for arsenic due to the implication that impatient heirs would use it. 1881 is a bit late for the test to be developed, but who says that the technology and science of the world of Zootopia have to perfectly match our own? At least in the movie, their technology appears beyond our own in at least some aspects; I don't think we could build a weather controlling wall that keeps one massive open area as a desert and another massive open area below zero. Considering the sheer variety of mammals, it might actually make sense for their medicine to be less well developed since illnesses and treatments would vary so widely.


	4. Chapter 4

As the cab rattled along the streets, my companion maintained a cheery monologue, one I suspected was solely in an attempt to get a rise out of the wolf who had collected us. The wolf, who had not so much as introduced himself by surname, simply sat opposite us, his face stony and unyielding, and he seemed entirely disinclined to say so much as a word. While I might, at a different time, have found my fellow-lodger's discourse on the differences in tone between a violin made by Stadivolius and one made by Amoleti engaging, I found my thoughts entirely consumed by a different matter. Why, I wondered, had Wilde invited me along for this errand of his? I would not presume to call him my friend, and I suspected that the reverse was true as well. In light of the revelation that his callers had all been his clients, I found myself wondering if he had friends at all.

Moreover, why had he proposed to split a suite with me when we had been near enough to perfect strangers? He had as much as claimed, when we first met, that our landlady would not have rented the suite to him had he attempted to do so alone, but certainly he could have found a mammal more like himself. It was true enough that our landlady did not much seem to like him, although he had not, so far as I had seen, done anything to antagonize her. Her opinion of me, however, seemed as though it could hardly be higher. She had come to me once, only a few days after Wilde and I had taken possession of our suite of rooms, convinced that her streaming nose, wet cough, and general aches were the symptoms of tuberculosis or perhaps leprosy. Even after treating her to perhaps the most thorough examination which I had ever performed as a doctor, it had taken me the better part of an hour to convince her that it was but a touch of the grippe and would soon resolve itself. She had appeared somewhat skeptical at the time but when my prediction had borne itself out the old armadillo thanked me profusely, and was ever after all smiles and small blandishments while in my presence. Perhaps Wilde had met Mrs. Armadillo before we had ever met, and read her as minutely as he had read me, deducing that she would be able to stomach a fox for a tenant if he brought with him a prey doctor willing to indulge a minor tendency towards hypochondria. It was a dizzying thought, to imagine that Wilde's powers of deduction could be so great, but after the example he had provided I found myself thinking that it would be most unwise to underestimate him.

* * *

Lemming Brothers Bank was built exactly as any right-thinking mammal should desire their bank to appear. It was designed after the neoclassical style, with a front facade that was all marble. The massive pillars of the colonnade supported an intricately carved pediment, into which was set a large clock. The masonry of the facade was of massive blocks, and the windows set into it were tall and narrow. All in all, the building gave off an air of strength and impermeability that was marred only by one of the windows, which had been boarded over. To my mind, it seemed likely that the window had been shattered by the burglars and marked their means of ingress. When the cab came to a stop, our silent escort had guided us through the main door, through a lobby even more impressive than the exterior, and down a corridor, stopping at a door marked, "Hubert Lemming" in large gilt letters upon a frosted pane of glass above somewhat smaller letters saying simply, "President."

The wolf knocked once before swinging the door open, and what met my eyes might have been comical under any other circumstances. Hubert Lemming's office was enormous, easily as large as our suite at 221B Barker Street, and quite richly furnished. The plush white carpeting looked deep enough that I would sink into it up to my ankles, and it must have been the devil to keep so immaculately clean. The furniture in the room was all elaborately carved out of rosewood, including a massive desk that dominated the room. On that desk was what seemed to be a reproduction of the office in miniature, complete with a copy of the desk, its matching credenza, and all of the other accouterments of the office. A lemming standing behind that miniature desk was staring up at Inspector Trunkaby, indulging in a furious tirade that had the elephant appearing quite cowed, despite the fact that she was at least a thousand times his size. At the sound of the door opening, the tiny lemming stopped his haranguing and spun round from the elephant to turn his attention upon us. "So this is your detective, I suppose?" he said, his voice high and shrill, "A rabbit of all mammals? Garou, bring her in and have her servant wait outside."

The wolf—Garou, I supposed—hesitated. "She's not the detective, sir," he said, his voice low and respectful as he gestured in my direction.

Hubert Lemming turned to Trunkaby, and I could see the incredulity writ large on his little face, "You bring me a fox? Need I remind you, my bank has already been robbed once and I have no intention of allowing it to occur again."

Throughout the entire exchange, Wilde had not moved from where we stood in the corridor outside the room, his face a blandly pleasant mask. It occurred to me that I may have found the reason why he had requested my presence, and felt a touch of shame for cajoling him into taking the case. "Mr. Lemming," Trunkaby said, "I have searched the crime scene to the full extent of my ability. Mr. Wilde is, admittedly, a touch unorthodox, but his little hunches have led to the solution of a number of cases that baffled all others."

Wilde glanced briefly at me, his eyebrow raised sardonically. "With a sleuth such as yourself upon the premises, I doubt there will be much for me to find," said he, favoring the inspector with a cheery grin.

Trunkaby rubbed her paws together in a self-satisfied way. "I think I have done all that can be done," she answered, "It's a queer case though, and I knew your taste for such things."

"That remains very much to be seen," Wilde said, casually stepping into the office, "Shall we start, then, with the scene of the crime?"

"Mind the carpet," Lemming squeaked in an irritated fashion, "Keep your filthy feet off of it."

"If you or your humble servant will escort me to where the gold was kept, I shall be happy to leave your office untainted by the presence of a fox," Wilde replied, his voice the very essence of sincerity.

Hubert Lemming snapped his fingers, and in a trice Garou had walked over to the desk and carefully picked up his boss with a single paw that absolutely dwarfed the irritable little mammal. "To the secondary vault," the lemming said imperiously.

Garou led the way down the corridor in the opposite direction from which we had gone to reach Lemming's office, stopping at the end of the corridor in front of a massive circular door all of steel. "The vault was supposed to be quite unbreachable," Lemming said, looking into the room broodingly, "The walls, floors, and ceiling around the outside of the vault are brick to a thickness of a foot and a half. The next layer is steel, nine inches thick, with a foot of fire-proof insulation before the next layer, another nine inches of steel."

Wilde examined the door carefully. It was quite thick, set on massive hinges that were unreachable from the outside of the vault. At its center was a large dial and a wheel. He gave it a small experimental tap, and the door, which must have weighed more than a tonne, moved noiselessly. "A combination lock, then," he mused, "Who has the combination?"

"I do not care for your implication, fox," Lemming spat from where he stood on the paw of his wolf servant, "Neither I nor any of the officers of the board would have robbed our own bank."

Wilde ignored his tone. "That would be, let's see, ten mammals? I expect you already have a list," he said, directing the last of this at Trunkaby.

"Naturally," she said, "Although I quite agree with Mr. Lemming's assessment."

"I suppose you would," he mused, returning to his examination of the door.

"And what of this gate?" he asked, pointing at it.

In the corridor, about eight feet back from the door to the vault were thick bars of wrought iron which ran from floor to ceiling, set no more than two inches apart. There was a sturdy gate set into the bars, which was currently open. Also set into the bars was, somewhat incongruously, a clock with a case of thick steel, which was set where the latch from the door met the bars. "It is a time lock," Mr. Lemming explained in the sort of tone usually reserved for dealings with half-wits, "It only permits the gate to be opened at five o'clock in the morning, before the bank begins operations, and at five o'clock in the evening, after the bank has closed and items must be transferred. This is the secondary vault, where we store items of value that must be held securely but recalled only occasionally."

I turned and peered down the corridor. At the opposite end was an identical gate and vault door, although both were securely fastened. That, I supposed, must be the main vault. Wilde stroked his muzzle thoughtfully, and stepped into the vault, the rest of our little party following him.

The inside of the vault was quite bare, the large space completely empty except for a wooden packing crate, which had been broken apart to reveal a large metal lock box, at least six feet on its longest side and three on its shortest. The lid of the lock box, which was almost a foot thick, was on the floor of the vault, and the inside of the lock box was completely empty. Wilde glanced at it briefly before turning to Lemming. "Explain, if you would, the sequence of events," he asked.

"Last night, around nine o'clock, one of the night guards heard a window breaking," the lemming began, and I immediately recalled the broken window we had seen on our way into the bank.

"They claim—although I have reason to be skeptical—that they followed protocol and ensured that the vaults stayed guarded while one of their number investigated the disturbance. Finding nothing except broken glass, the guard checked with the others, who all swear that the vault doors and the gates were never unguarded. The guard who discovered the broken glass summoned a constable by means of the bank's telephone, and made a report. The constable, being a witless oaf—"

Lemming broke off from his recitation to favor Trunkaby with a furious glare. "—agreed with their assessment. The guards made a note in their nightly report, cleaned up the broken glass and boarded over the window, and the morning shift verified that the vaults had remained sealed. At five o'clock this evening, the secondary vault was opened to remove the gold from the lock box. Per the bank's protocols, and by simple necessity, I must be present for all such actions. When the lock box was opened, it was entirely empty, and we immediately notified the police."

"What makes your presence a necessity?" I asked eagerly, finding myself quite drawn into the mystery that the lemming was unspooling.

Mr. Lemming gave me a curious look, as though he had quite forgotten that I was present. "I have the only key to this lock box. Garou, show them."

With his free paw, Garou drew from out of the collar of his shirt a key he wore like a necklace on a length of fine silver chain. The key was perhaps the most peculiar I had ever seen. It was a cylinder, about as long as Mr. Lemming was tall, and about as thick around as my thumb. There were a number of meandering and asymmetric grooves cut into the sides of the cylinder, and a number of protrusions sticking off from it. At the top there was a ring set perpendicular to the cross-section of the key, through which the chain was threaded. The key was completely unmarked except for a small arrow carved into the top, which I presumed was part of a matching pair with the lock itself to show how the key must be inserted. "May I examine the key more closely?" Wilde asked.

Mr. Lemming hesitated before gesturing to Garou to turn the key over. "I suppose it makes no difference now. The thieves have entirely ruined the lock."

Indeed, when Wilde took the key to the lid of the lock box, there was nowhere to insert it. The keyhole had been entirely filled with what looked, to my untrained eye, as nothing more than lead, heated to its melting point and poured in. "This is queer," Wilde said approvingly, "I suppose that I owe you my thanks, Dr. Hopps, for convincing me to take this case."

I believed that I understood his comment. The thieves had managed to enter an impregnable vault, opened a lock box with an elaborate lock apparently by filling the lock with molten lead, and then had made off with two tonnes of gold. All of that they had accomplished under the noses of a number of guards, and the only clue to their entrance was a broken window a good hundred feet from the vault. "I shall have words with Goredian," Mr. Lemming vowed darkly, "Why should their lock box cost so much, only to be defeated with a bit of lead?"

The lid of the lock box was inscribed with the words "Goredian Lock & Safe Co." and it did not take a particularly astute investigator to make the connection that they were the Goredian of which Mr. Lemming spoke. Wilde, meanwhile, was examining the broken remains of the wooden crate that the lock box had been in. "I see that this lock box came to you from your Furis branch," he said, indicating the peeling packaging label, "It arrived yesterday?"

"Yes," Mr. Lemming said irritably, "As I have already explained to Inspector Trunkaby, it passed every examination short of opening the crate throughout the entire transport process, and there is no doubt that, until the seals were broken to-day, the crate remained closed."

Wilde whipped a tape measure and a large round magnifying glass from his pocket. With these two implements he trotted noiselessly about the vault, sometimes stopping, occasionally kneeling, and once lying flat upon his face and sniffing at a broken piece of the crate. So engrossed was he with his occupation that he appeared to have forgotten our presence, for he chattered away to himself under his breath the whole time, keeping up a running fire of exclamations, groans, whistles, and little cries suggestive of encouragement and of hope. "I see you have quite ruined the arrangement of the vault," he remarked.

"The bank had to inventory the contents of both vaults and move the remaining items from this vault into the main vault until the weakness in this one is found and corrected," Trunkaby said defensively, and I suspected that the activity had been arranged under her watch, "But everything else has been left _in statu quo_."

"The crate and the lock box, you mean?" Wilde asked rhetorically, "But never mind that. I suppose nothing else is missing?"

"Nothing whatsoever," Mr. Lemming confirmed.

"I should like to speak with the guards who were on duty last night," Wilde remarked, "And hear the events in their own words."

"You'll have to find them," Mr. Lemming said dismissively, "I would rather put a fox in charge of a hen house than allow those bunglers to guard my bank another minute. All have been fired for their incompetence."

I had no doubt that his choice of idiom had been entirely purposeful, from the cruel little smirk he had worn as he delivered his words, but if they affected my companion at all he gave no indication. "Names and last known addresses will do to start with, then," Wilde said, "And where may I find the constable who responded to the report of the broken window?"

Trunkaby flipped through her notepad. "Constable Clawhauser walks the night beat out of precinct one," she said, "I shall ring the precinct and let them know to expect you."

"Very well," Wilde said, "Inspector, I would be most grateful if you would provide me the two lists of names I have requested to my residence."

On that note, he turned to leave, and beckoned me after him. "But what do you make of all this?" Trunkaby asked, with a note of what I believed to be desperation in her voice.

Indeed, contrary to the rapid series of deductions that I had expected from the start of our journey to the bank, Wilde had made no comments that would give any indicator of how he felt the crime had been committed. "It would be robbing you of the credit of the case if I was to presume to help you," remarked my companion, "You are doing so well now that it would be a pity for anyone to interfere. Come along, Dr. Hopps; we have a few stops to make."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, into the details of the case! I also give a bit more explanation (or at least, Dr. Hopps's theorizing) as to why Judy ends up splitting a flat with Nick. Whether or not her deduction is correct will remain to be seen. There's also some more demonstration of the prejudices against foxes (and, to a lesser extent in this chapter, against bunnies) that are more pronounced in this Victorian era work than in the present day of the original movie. I am trying to avoid the trope, quite common in Sherlock Holmes adaptations, that Watson is an incompetent buffoon only there to provide someone for Sherlock to show how clever he is by talking to him. In the original works, Dr. Watson is smart in his own right, but Sherlock is simply a lot smarter. Or, at least, a lot better at deductions. This story will have a similar dynamic as it develops, but Dr. Hopps will be pretty involved in the investigation and will prove to be integral.


	5. Chapter 5

We were ensconced in a hansom on our way to the precinct one police station when I turned to my companion to speak. I was, to tell the truth, scouring my brains to attempt to piece together whatever Wilde had seen in the crime scene, but I could not. "What do you make of the crime scene, then, if you do not mind my asking?"

"It is a capital mistake to theorize before you have all the evidence. It biases the judgment," he said.

I could respect his dedication to his chosen craft, but there was another matter that I believed deserved discussion. "Mr. Lemming was unfathomably rude to you," I remarked, "You have done nothing to deserve such shabby treatment."

"It is kind of you to think so," my companion said, "But I would not qualify Mr. Lemming's remarks as unfathomable."

"I cannot say that I wish you to fail, but I would not be in the least put out should his gold never be recovered," I said, "The little beast quite deserves to be ruined, should his attitude towards you be any indication of his character."

I thought that Wilde would appreciate my show of support, but his reaction indicated quite the opposite. "It is of the first importance," Wilde cried, "Not to allow your judgment to be biased by personal qualities. A client is to me a mere unit, a factor in a problem. The emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning. I assure you that the most winning mammal I ever knew was hanged for poisoning three little cubs for their insurance-money, and the most repellent mammal of my acquaintance is a philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a million upon the Zootopian poor."

"In this case, however—"

"I never make exceptions. An exception disproves the rule," he said firmly, the matter apparently quite settled in his mind.

"Does your philosophy extend across all aspects of your being?" I asked, somewhat shocked by the misanthropy evidenced by his remarks.

"It does not do to become entangled in the affairs of other mammals; to allow emotion to color judgment is the single greatest mistake that can be made."

That seemed, to me, a dreadfully pessimistic attitude with which to go through life, and I again found myself wondering if Wilde had any friends or loved ones. Was it some singular event that had sent him down this path, or was it simply in a fox's nature to push aside bonds and live in solitude?

"I see the skepticism across your face," Wilde remarked, "Perhaps an object lesson shall be appropriate. I would beg your favor to perform a task for me to-morrow which may determine how the thieves managed to open the lock box."

"What sort of favor?" I asked cautiously.

I was eager to see through to the end the mystery of the stolen gold, but I still did not believe I had the full measure of my companion.

"Mr. Alexander Goredian is, by many accounts, the finest locksmith and safe-maker in all of Zootopia. In my line of work, I have had many occasions on which to see the product of his factory, the Goredian Lock and Safe Company." Wilde began.

I recalled at once that the lock box had borne the mark of that company, and thought again on the strange means by which it had been opened. I could not pretend to be any sort of expert on safe-cracking, but I could not recall having ever heard of a lock being defeated by means of filling it with molten lead. Yet, by the solid mass of metal which had filled the keyhole, there could be little doubt that the thieves had somehow managed to do so.

"I should like you to visit his factory to-morrow, as soon as it opens, and inquire about purchasing a lock box. Time shall be of the essence if we are to engage Mr. Goredian's attention before Mr. Lemming can do so with his complaint."

"Is that all?" I asked, somewhat puzzled, "I will do so happily, if it would be an aid in your investigation, but why should you not do so yourself?"

A thin smile crossed my companion's muzzle. "I did say that it would be an object lesson, did I not? Mr. Goredian takes great pains to ensure the happiness and welfare of his workers. The wages he pays are well in excess of the norm, and he stays involved in the day-to-day lives of his employees. He is himself a staunch teetotaler and expects that those under his employ will abide by the principles of temperance. By all accounts he is the model factory owner, the very opposite of a robber baron."

"Do you mean to tell me that is all a facade, hiding a monstrous nature?"

My companion shrugged. "He refuses to either employ or do business with predators, so I cannot say, having never met the mammal myself. I would ask only that you keep in mind that mammals have many facets, and the face you see may not be that which others do. On this occasion, I mean to take advantage of Goredian's nature."

I opened my mouth to remark on the cynical cunning that Wilde had expressed, but before I could speak the hansom came to a stop and he clapped his paws together.

"Here we are!" he said cheerfully, as we stepped out of the cab, "Precinct one's police station."

The station was a magnificent building that stood out dramatically from those that surrounded it. Where the other buildings on the block were all rectangular, the station was circular, three stories tall and surrounded by manicured lawns. The drab gray exterior was broken by large windows and the overall effect that it gave was that of a panopticon, maintaining a vigilant watch of the surrounding city in all directions. When we made our way to the reception desk, it was evident that Inspector Trunkaby had been true to her word and called ahead, for the receptionist had barely caught site of my companion before she told us that Constable Clawhauser was awaiting us in one of the interrogation rooms.

* * *

Constable Clawhauser was a cheetah with the tall and slim build typical of his species, which was a curious contrast to his round, open face. He exuded simple, honest cheer, though he seemed quite nervous at the moment. I could scarcely blame him, for the interrogation room seemed designed to put mammals on edge. It was small and smelled of damp, and the gas mantles behind sturdy wire cages on the walls made the room almost uncomfortably bright. When my companion and I entered the room he gave a little jump of surprise before recovering and taking us in.

"Why, you're Nicholas Wilde, are you not?" the cheetah asked, his eyes wide.

"I am," my companion replied, "Now, it is a matter—"

"The one and same that caught Springbok Jack?" Clawhauser interrupted.

"I—"

"Oh, this is extraordinary!" the cheetah cried happily, throwing his paws to his cheeks in a gesture of pure excitement that made him look rather younger, "I must have a photograph, I simply must!"

With that, he dashed out of the room with all the speed for which cheetahs are known. My companion turned to me, apparently bemused. "Perhaps this is another task I should have begged your favor for," he remarked, "It seems that I have a devotee."

"I would have guessed you to enjoy the appreciation," I replied, "Should I have deprived you of such?"

Before Wilde could reply, as I am sure that he would have, the cheetah had returned at full tilt, carrying within his paws a box camera which I recognized as being one of the Kodiak models which had taken the country quite by storm. One of my younger sisters, for whom the old family daguerreotypes had always held an immense fascination, had become quite devoted to her Kodiak camera during the few months I spent on the family farm before moving to Zootopia, taking countless pictures of the farm and its inhabitants. I suspected that the camera which the cheetah held was intended for less artistic purposes, for it had, neatly stenciled across the front, the words, "Property of ZPD."

"The lighting here will be quite ideal," the cheetah mused to himself, before suddenly thrusting the camera into my paws.

"Have you ever used a camera before?" he asked.

"I have, but—"

"Wonderful!" he cried, then knelt down to bring himself to the same general height as Wilde, throwing an arm across his shoulder.

"Take it quickly, Dr. Hopps," Wilde muttered, appearing less than pleased with the invasion of his personal space by the excitable cheetah.

Recalling what my sister had shown me, I carefully and slowly sighted the two mammals and pressed the button for the shutter. "Thank you very much," the cheetah said, taking the camera back from me and winding a small wheel to advance the roll within the camera to prepare it for its next photograph, "I can hardly wait to get this developed!"

His little work with the camera done, Clawhauser looked up at me. "I am afraid my excitement has made me forget my manners," he said, "I am Constable Benajmin Clawhauser, and you are?"

"This is my flatmate, Dr. Judith Hopps, who has been so kind as to agree to help my investigation," Wilde broke in, with a patience that I found remarkable, "You already know who I am, of course."

"You share a flat with him?" Clawhauser asked, looking first at me and then at Wilde, "The pair of you are rather darling, if you do not mind my saying so. And quite brave!"

I very much did mind, having been referred to with grating diminutives by many a larger mammal, but Wilde spoke before I could comment. "Her more so than I," Wilde said dryly, "Would you mind describing, in your own words, what transpired at Lemming Brothers Bank last night?"

Clawhauser's testimony as to the events of the previous night matched up precisely with what Mr. Lemming had said. "How was the window broken?" Wilde asked, once the cheetah had described the scene as he encountered it.

"It was a cobblestone, I think, pried up from the street," Clawhauser said, "There was no mistaking that it was a rock of some sort; I saw it myself mixed in with the broken glass."

Wilde nodded thoughtfully. "You are quite sure that the vaults and gates were locked when you examined them?"

"I would swear it was, before a judge if you should like," the cheetah said, "I thought it must have been some mammal up to a bit of mischief, not a true attempt on the bank's vault."

"Thank you, constable, you have been most helpful," Wilde said, and got up to leave.

"Mr. Wilde," Clawhauser called out, "Did I make some error? Was the robbery my fault?"

The cheetah's ears and tail were drooping in abject misery. "I would not suspect so," Wilde replied kindly, "Do keep your chin up; I suspect that you will be the desk sergeant before too long."

Clawhauser's eyes widened in surprise, and I saw that Wilde had, once more, seen in a mammal that which was invisible to others. It struck me that, when Wilde had said that each mammal had many facets and revealed but one to each mammal they encountered, he was also describing himself.

* * *

Upon leaving the police station, we made no further stops that night and instead returned to our suite. Our landlady had kept the fire stoked in our absence, and Wilde sank into the chair closest to it, his paws held towards the flames with an expression of simple pleasure on his face. "I must thank you for it all," he said, turning towards me, "I might not have gone but for you, and so have missed the finest study I ever came across: a study in gold, eh? There's the golden thread of greed running through the colorless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it. And now, dear doctor, I suggest that you rest. I have one or two more errands to-night, but it must be an early morning for you if we are to succeed."

I was reluctant to give up the mystery that had enticed me so in favor of sleep, but the exertions of the evening had been too much for my still weak health. Though excitement coursed through my veins like a kit awaiting the arrival of Father Christmas, I was soon off in a dreamless sleep, my last thoughts of the task that awaited me.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I get onto any notes for the story itself, I want to give a big thanks to DrummerMax64, who had both of my stories featured on the Zootopia News Network. You can check out the site here, which I highly recommend that you do; it's got a great mix of featured content of all types, from stories to art to material about the film itself.
> 
>  
> 
> <http://www.zootopianewsnetwork.com/>
> 
>  
> 
> DrummerMax64, your support means a lot to me, and I cannot thank you enough! I'd also like to thank SR again for providing the cover images that I'm using, which also appear in the write ups of my stories on ZNN.
> 
> If you're reading this story after being linked from ZNN, I'm glad that you've come and I hope that you enjoy it!
> 
> For this particular chapter, I do have a few comments. Since this story is based heavily off of the original Sherlock Holmes stories, I've been doing a lot of research into the Victorian era and the early 1900s. Although Prohibition was a US phenomenon, temperance movements were fairly common across the English-speaking world in the 19th and early 20th centuries, and there were a number based in the UK, such as the Independent Order of Rechabites. It also wasn't unheard of for employers to attempt to control the lives of their workers. In the US, for example, Henry Ford created the Sociological Department, which employed investigators to look into the lives of the Ford Motor Company's employees, who could have their wages reduced or even be fired if they didn't meet the moral standards the company expected. I played a little fast and loose with a couple of inventions; the first Kodak camera wasn't released until 1888, and gas mantle lamps weren't common commercially until about 1885. It is pretty interesting, though, that even as electric lighting (which began spreading as a utility in 1882) was making rapid advancements that there were still a number of major advancements in gas lighting being made. Springbok Jack is a reference to Spring-Heeled Jack, a Victorian boogeyman sighted from the 1830s to the 1870s.
> 
> In terms of character work, I imagine that in the continuity of the movie itself Clawhauser was probably physically fit when he first became an officer. Since this version of Clawhauser is a beat cop, I thought it made sense that he would stay in shape. In the continuity of the story, I thought that it would also make sense for him to idolize Nick a bit; I imagine that predator cops are relatively uncommon and find it difficult to advance in the ranks in such a prejudiced society, so a brilliant predator detective would be something of a role model. Of course, I imagine Clawhauser's true love to still be Gazelle. Judy's time to shine will be next chapter, which should be pretty fun, but in this chapter I tried delving a little deeper into what makes this version of Nick tick. Like the original Sherlock, he's being more than a little dishonest when he talks about emotions; he was clearly annoyed at the treatment he got in the last chapter and was retaliating to Trunkaby and Mr. Lemming with sarcasm.
> 
> Also, since the news came through as I was going to post this, a big congratulations to everyone who worked on Zootopia for the movie winning an Oscar! It's great to see their hard work rewarded; this movie has meant a lot to me and many other people, so hopefully the win tonight will push some more people into giving the movie a chance and convince Disney to give it a sequel.


	6. Chapter 6

I was roused from my slumber far too early in the morning by the insistent knocking at my bed-room door of my fellow-lodger. "You must get ready," said he, his voice muffled slightly by the door that separated us, "Our carriage shall be here shortly."

I pulled myself out of my bed and started to make my way towards my dresser when Wilde knocked again. "I have an outfit for you to wear to-day," he said, "Open the door and I shall pass it through."

"Is there something wrong with how I normally dress?" I asked, as I picked up my dressing gown and limped towards the door.

"I shall explain once you are ready," he said.

Once I was satisfied that the combination of my nightgown and dressing gown was sufficient to preserve my modesty in front of my vulpine flatmate, I pulled open the door to accept the bundle that Wilde was holding out. It was a daytime dress of the sort a proper lady would wear, with a skirt and jersey in a muted orange color, the hems and seams trimmed with piping in a darker shade of orange that was almost brown. Paired with the dress were matching gloves and a hat with an enormous green feather in it. "I shall look like a pumpkin," I remarked in distaste.

I had never much cared for dresses, particularly those that necessitated a corset. Trousers or bloomers were more to my style; even the loose-fitting skirts that my mother and many of my sisters favored would have been preferable to what he had offered me.

"Rather more like a carrot, I imagine," Wilde replied, a small smile playing across his muzzle as he leaned casually within the doorway, "You should be the envy of the upper crust; the half of them that have not starved and corseted themselves thinner than waifs would give much to fit a dress like this so well."

"It remains to be seen if it fits at all. Should it fit, they are perfectly welcome to spend a month or two abed with fever if fitting a dress after my fashion is their desire," I replied, and Wilde shut the door to allow me to change.

In point of fact, Wilde had been quite correct that the dress fit well. Although the skirt included a bustle, it did not protrude so much as I had feared. The dress overall was just short of being tight, even with the corset loosely fastened—a mercy, as I had no desire to let Wilde see me half-dressed and beg his favor to lace it. I took the fit of the dress as another reminder of how, even months later, my illness had left me diminished. As I fastened the last of the many small buttons on the front of the jersey, it occurred to me to wonder how Wilde had come by a dress so perfectly sized for me, and once I had left my bed-room I asked him straight out. "I cannot say that I care for the style, but it does fit quite well," I admitted, "However did you come by a dress so completely matched to me?"

"I did not," Wilde replied, without looking up from where he was sitting.

He was in the chair closest to the fireplace, poring over a thick black-bound volume, which he jammed a scrap of blotting paper into and shut, turning his attention to me. "It was one of the errands I attended to last night, altering a dress in my possession to your size. Seeing you before me, I will make no attempts at modesty and say that I have done so perfectly."

"You altered the dress yourself?" I asked in wonder, "How did you know my size?"

"I have a certain talent with my paws," he remarked, yawning widely, "And an eye for detail."

At his yawn I was struck by another question. "Have you slept at all?"

Indeed, his eyes, half-lidded as usual, had bags underneath them, and it could not have been a simple task to alter the dress. It seemed a more reasonable conclusion to assume that he had started with a dress intended for an entirely different species than to assume that he had a dress intended for a bunny. Moreover, even if his starting point had been a bunny's dress, I was tall and—at the moment—unusually slender for my species, which both would have had to have been accounted for. "I can go without sleep for days, if I must, while I am on a case," Wilde replied, "Though I think that I shall drop into a nap while you are at your task. All of that is besides the point, however. I see that our carriage has arrived, so I shall explain en route."

Inside the hansom, he passed me two more articles, remarking, "I am afraid that I shall have to ask you to substitute your cane and doctor's bag with these, in case Mr. Goredian proves to be more observant than most."

Wilde had provided an umbrella and a clutch that matched the dress he had provided. "The upper class, you see, is rather concerned about fashion, and even those of us nowhere near their lofty heights may notice the details marking a pretender."

I hefted the umbrella doubtfully, but was pleasantly surprised to realize that it was solidly made and quite capable of substituting for my regular cane. The clutch contained an elaborately embroidered handkerchief, a small but beautifully beaded purse with an assortment of coins in it, and an engraved silver case for calling cards. I retrieved the last of these and opened it. There were perhaps half a dozen calling cards, all identical, printed on fine card stock the color of bone. In embossed letters, the cards read simply, "Mrs. Thaddeus Cotton."

"Who, pray tell, is Mrs. Thaddeus Cotton?" I asked, though I suspected that I knew the answer.

"You, of course," Wilde replied, "I said that I would explain and I shall."

I leaned forward a hair, curious as to what machinations he had in mind. "Let us consider the options that were before us," he began, "It would be quite impossible for me to interview Mr. Goredian, as he would not lower himself to answer questions from a fox. If you were to question him yourself, with your motives undisguised, he may be less than forthcoming, particularly as you are not an officer of the law."

"Surely Inspector Trunkaby could have joined this little venture," I interjected, seeing an obvious hole in his logic.

"She would never deign to allow me to lead," he replied, "She has far too much self-importance for that."

It struck me as a peculiar bit of hypocrisy for Wilde to consider some other mammal self-important. "I can see how that would create a problem," I said dryly.

"Therefore, a simple ruse should be sufficient to obtain the information which I need. As soon as you step out of this cab, you are Amelia Cotton, wife of Mr. Thaddeus Cotton. The two of you are members of the _nouveau riche_ , having recently moved from the country to the city to see to the needs of your business."

"What business would that be?" I asked.

Wilde shrugged. "I would suggest oil, but it could be whatsoever you desire so long as it is believable that a pair of country bunnies could amass a fortune from it. Mr. Goredian has had, I am sure, many dealings with wealthy and paranoid mammals, and should he believe you to be upstarts it will go a long way towards excusing your accent and any errors in your manners."

"You forget that I served in the army," I said, with no small measure of annoyance, "My manners are impeccable."

"For an army officer, perhaps, but surely you can recall fellow officers from, shall we say, a higher social standing?"

I could. In fact, an officer such as I had been, having neither family fortune nor so much as a drop of noble blood, was very much looked down upon by those who did. In my first week of training, I had heard more than one of my fellows remark that only the nobility had the inborn qualities necessary to serve as an officer, a comment usually pointedly made within earshot of those of us from more common stock. The shared suffering of our training had evoked some small amount of _esprit de corps_ , but there was no mistaking those from higher up the social strata. I conceded the point, "Very well. But to what purpose is this charade?"

"I have not finished your background," Wilde replied with what I imagined to be mock severity, "Last night, thieves attempted to rob your mansion. In the ensuing fracas, you twisted your ankle while your servants beat back the forces of villainy, and you have to-day made haste to purchase the finest safe or lock box made by mammalkind to ensure the continued safety of your valuables."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow at his somewhat grandiose explanation. It explained, rather neatly, why a relatively young and supposedly wealthy mammal would walk with a limp and appear so frayed; he meant to play my still sickly appearance as the result of a horrid shock rather than illness. "That seems a bit overdone," I remarked.

"Hardly so," Wilde replied, "For, especially if you can give the impression of tears, I have no doubt that Mr. Goredian shall tell you anything you wish to hear in order to convince you that his is the company from which you should purchase that safe."

I could admire the devious end to which the fox had turned his natural gift for deception. "What are you hoping that I learn?"

"Anything and everything that you can," Wilde said, "I will sift through whatever you can tell me and separate the wheat from the chaff. Everything shall ride upon your skills as an actress; if you do not believe yourself up to the task I shall have the carriage turn back now."

I was somewhat doubtful that Wilde had ever separated wheat from chaff in the literal sense, as I had, but I had already seen him use his remarkable gift to derive conclusions that appeared obvious after the fact but relied on details most would overlook. I will admit to no small eagerness to see him display his talent again, although it was a fine thing for him to question my preparedness so close to the critical juncture. My skills at pageantry were limited to those I had acquired as a kit and were not, perhaps, up to the standard my companion seemed to desire, but I would try nonetheless. "I mean to see this through," I said firmly.

* * *

As our carriage brought us into view of the Rain-Forest District, I let out an involuntary gasp of awe. The reader may think it a sign of my country upbringing, but I would challenge anyone not raised in Zootopia to see it as I did and not be moved. Neither New Yak City, that modern upstart, nor Romulus, that long-standing and self-declared _Caput Mundi_ , had anything that I think could compare. In the light of the rising sun, the Rain-Forest District glowed like an immense ruby, the tremendous structure of wrought iron and glass that stood atop the canyon below catching the sun's rays. The elegant and seemingly impossibly fragile ridge-and-furrow design of the world's largest greenhouse only added to the resemblance of some spectacular jewel.

My reaction did not go unnoticed by my companion, who chuckled at my reaction. "You have never been this way at sunrise or sunset before, I suppose?" he said, smiling indulgently.

I could not take my eyes off the District as we approached. "Never," I said, "I have gone during the day, but I have never seen it as it is now."

"Then you have missed quite the treat," he said.

Once the carriage was within the confines of the Rain-Forest District, there was no mistaking it for any other location within the city. The air was hot and humid, the glass of the canopy that trapped the sun's rays and the steam pipes that ran throughout the District conspiring together to give what I assumed was an incredible level of verisimilitude to the imitation of a natural rain forest. The carriage took the long, circuitous path that wound its way around the edges of the canyon towards the ground far below at the bottom, passing by a multitude of homes and businesses carved into the rock of the canyon walls. In the light of the rising sun, the Ratenbach Falls, which flowed down the walls of one side of the canyon, made spectacular rainbows. I had seen the falls when I had previously visited the district and been amazed by their height; it must have been near to a thousand feet from the top of the canyon to the bottom. I spied also the cables and gondolas that marked a more rapid means of ascent and descent than that offered by taking the path down.

I resolved to visit again on some other day to view the sunrise from one of those gondolas; I could only imagine how spectacular it would be to view suspended over the large tropical park that formed nearly an eighth of the canyon floor.

The carriage stopped suddenly, perhaps three-quarters of the way down, and I saw that we had reached our destination. A sign bolted into the rock of the wall read, "Goredian Lock & Safe Co." in large gilt letters above smaller ones that read "Est. 1853."

"It is here that our paths must part," Wilde said, "Please do keep in mind what I have told you. And do not purchase a safe unless it is absolutely necessary; I doubt poor Trunkaby could afford the expense."

I accepted the carriage driver's hoof to step out of the hansom and steeled my resolve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had planned on this chapter delving into Judy's investigation, but during editing made the decision that a little more set up and world building was necessary, and getting in some more character bits would help too.
> 
> My description of the dress that Judy is given to wear is, to the best of my ability, the description of something that would be fashionable in 1881. In the early 1880s, narrow skirts and tight-fitting button up sweaters worn over a corset were the style, although the skirts became increasingly large and elaborate as the 1880s went on; towards the end of the period, a fashionable orange dress really would have made a woman resemble a pumpkin. I can't imagine wearing a tight-fitting dress with a heavy skirt and a corset to be very comfortable, and given Judy's nature it makes sense to be less than pleased with it.
> 
> In this story, I've tried to keep the level of technology roughly equal to what it was in the real world at the time. One of the major changes, therefore, is how the city would work in terms of having different districts. With Victorian-level technology, I just don't think it would be feasible to make a rain forest in London that is open to the air. Actually, it probably still wouldn't be feasible. In any case, in this story the Rain-Forest District takes inspiration from the Crystal Palace, an enormous greenhouse that was built for the 1851 Great Exhibition and unfortunately burned down in 1936. I'm not a civil engineer, but building a giant greenhouse over a canyon seemed like a plausible way to still have a different biome without having to hand-wave away how it was possible.


	7. Chapter 7

The cobblestones were damp and cool under my feet in a pleasant contrast to the air of the Rain-Forest District, which made it feel as though I were attempting to breathe steam. As I approached the entrance of the Goredian Lock and Safe Company, my eye was naturally drawn to the way in which it stood out from the businesses that surrounded it. Whereas the others were covered with the mosses and creeping vines which flourished in the tropical climate of the district, only their signs and windows kept clear of the pervasive vegetation, the facade of the Goredian Lock and Safe Company was scrupulously clean. The austere gray rock of the exposed canyon wall stood out from its more colorful neighbors, and I could only imagine the effort it took to keep clean. While I could not claim to have nearly the insight into the minds of mammals that my companion did, I fancied that it spoke of Mr. Goredian's nature in some way, to insist on a Sisyphean battle with nature itself. As I passed through the doorway set in the well-scrubbed rock walls, I reminded myself that it was a battle that he appeared, by all accounts, to be winning.

The small lobby of the company showed every sign of having been carved from the rock of the canyon itself, although the floor and walls had been smoothed to a glossy shine. The main reception desk was an enormous block of marble so highly polished that I could see myself reflected in it. Behind the desk was a disinterested-looking doe in an inexpensive, plain dress of rough cotton. I was, however, more than a little envious of her, as while her dress was quite unfashionable it was undeniably looser and more comfortable looking than the one which I was wearing. The heat and humidity of the district was making me deeply regret accepting the dress from Wilde; it had been uncomfortable enough when I had left our suite of rooms but it seemed to be absorbing the moisture from the air and getting ever more hot, heavy, and restrictive.

"You there!" I barked imperiously at the deer, who had looked up from her little business of filing her hooves when she heard the bell over the door which announced my arrival, "I wish to speak with Mr. Goredian. Bring him out at once!"

I did not make a habit of being rude to salesmammals, or any mammals for that matter, but the charade which Wilde had set me upon seemed to demand the sort of behavior I had seen displayed by one of the most unpleasant mammals I had the misfortune of making the acquaintance of during my time in the service. I will not name her here, for her family is one of renowned wealth and standing, but I will say only that I hope the intervening years since we parted ways have given her cause to reevaluate her life and have perhaps humbled her somewhat. It gave me no pleasure to see the deer's look of wide-eyed shock at my demand, nor the way in which she dropped her file and suddenly sat up ramrod straight. "Do you have an appointment?" she stammered, pulling out a calendar and frantically flipping through it.

"Do you know who I am?" I asked, holding my nose up haughtily, "Fetch him at once, or I shall make sure he hears of your impudence."

The deer fled her post in a trice, and I was struck with a wave of guilt. It was not right to treat an innocent mammal so shabbily; I was being no better than Mr. Lemming had been to my companion. I recalled the disguise I had seen Wilde in, and wondered how wickedly he had behaved while dressed as a disreputable coyote. Perhaps he could separate his morals, should he have any, from the needs of his cases, but I could not. I procured the beaded purse from the clutch Wilde had given me, and from it pulled a half crown. If I was to humiliate and degrade an innocent at his behest, I had no compunctions about spending his money with which to do so.

Within minutes the deer returned with a mammal who could have only been Mr. Goredian in tow. From the location of his shop, I had expected that Mr. Goredian would belong to a species for whom the heat and humidity of the Rain-Forest District would be comfortable rather than oppressive. He was, however, a bull, although he seemed to have conceded somewhat to the artificial climate of the district by keeping his fur close-cropped to his skin. He was somewhere between middle-aged and elderly, his brown fur liberally shot through with gray. In his youth, he had likely been powerfully built, but his muscles had wasted away somewhat, leaving him with a ropey frame and a mild potbelly. Although he was somewhat stooped with age, he absolutely towered over me; he must have stood nearly eight feet tall. The doe, with her eyes downcast, introduced the bull. "Mr. Goredian, ma'am."

I paid her no mind and looked up into Mr. Goredian's face. "Amelia Cotton," I said, fishing out one of the calling cards that Wilde had included as part of my outfit, "You will have heard of my husband Thaddeus, of course."

"I am afraid that you have me at a disadvantage," he said respectfully as he examined the card, seeming to take in the finery in which I was dressed and assuming that I really was wealthy, "I cannot say that I have."

I sniffed. "I had been told that all the best mammals trust your safes, but I see that you do not move in their circles."

I pursed my lips. "I suppose I can forgive that, should your safes be of the quality I have heard."

I was almost surprised with how easy it was to treat others with disdain, and wondered at whether those mammals I had met who always acted in such a fashion—particularly the young lady on whom I was modeling my current behavior—realized or cared about the impact of their words. "There can be no doubt that they are," Goredian said with evident pride, straightening up, "What business is it that brings you here to-day?"

"I am here because of a fox," I said, quite truthfully.

Mr. Goredian gave no outward reaction, apparently content to allow me to continue, which I did by speaking blatant falsehoods.

"A thief attempted to rob my home last night," I said, keeping with the story which Wilde had generated for me, "My husband and I did not realize that the city would be so dangerous; had it not been for our servants, it is quite likely that we would be the poorer of many valuables and I myself might have suffered worse than this twisted ankle."

I gestured down at my leg and gave a delicate shudder, while Goredian made a little sympathetic noise. "There were vagabonds and tinkers in the country, of course, but they knew better than to attempt anything beyond the sale of worthless trinkets at outrageous prices. How do thieves grow so bold here in the city?"

At my story, Mr. Goredian had visibly relaxed; I would guess that I had done enough to convince him that I had money to spend and held similar views. "It has been a terrible shock for you, I see, but it is an unfortunate story. Thieves skulk around where the opportunities lie," he said disdainfully, "They have no patience for honest labor and so come to the city, where there are ever more opportunities to steal from those who have worked for their living. It is as though the city itself draws out the worst of their natural wickedness, and they will happily corrupt others to their ways."

Goredian had not directly stated that he was speaking of predators in general or foxes specifically rather than merely thieves, but I had little doubt as to the intent of his words. I could only imagine what he would have thought to learn that I was sharing a flat with a fox and doubtlessly being corrupted in his mind, let alone the kind of reception which he would have given Wilde. Had my flatmate shown up himself the large bull would probably have bodily forced the fox to leave his shop. I swallowed my distaste for Goredian's views and forced myself to nod my agreement. "You understand, then, why I am in need of a safe."

"Naturally, madame," he said, "What sort of safe are you looking for to-day?"

"What sort of safe?" I repeated, and the confusion that I put into the words was not entirely manufactured.

I had little cause to know much about safes, as I had never had the need for one. I had next to nothing in the way of valuables during my military service, and it was laughable to think of why a safe would be needed in Bunny Burrows. I doubt that any location in all the empire, except Her Majesty's palace itself, could be so secure and as free of crime as my hometown. The wealth my family had kept was in the land and the tools to work it, not in money or baubles; the few treasured Hopps heirlooms had no value except that imbued into them by sentiment. Besides, the town was composed almost entirely of bunnies brought up with the simple virtue that had been our birthright for untold generations. "A large one," I blustered, gesturing vaguely in the air, "A secure one. Your finest, that is."

Mr. Goredian smiled indulgently, and I wondered how often ill-informed mammals showed up at his shop."We have a showroom," Mr. Goredian said, "Please, I would be glad to show you the finest safes and lock boxes in all of Zootopia."

He held open a door leading out of the lobby, and I inclined my head and walked towards it. On my way past the main desk, I placed the half crown on it and turned my attention towards the doe. Since bringing Mr. Goredian into the lobby she had taken her seat behind the desk in absolute silence, her eyes fixed steadfastly downwards. I wondered how her own views compared to those of her employer, for she had given no sign of either agreeing or disagreeing with Goredian throughout our conversation. "I suggest you work on your manners," I said as I passed by.

The doe's eyes briefly narrowed in annoyance, and I could hear her mutter, "And you as well, _lady_ ," under her breath as she took the coin, clearly underestimating my hearing.

I could not disagree with her assessment, but I chose to ignore it. The doorway through which Goredian led me took us into what could only be the main work area of his company. The day's work had only just begun, and the laborers seemed to still be in the process of setting up their tools at their work station. Even without any activity in progress, however, the factory floor was quite impressive. I saw that Goredian's work force ranged from mice, a group of which was busily setting up tooling so minuscule and delicate that it would make a watchmaker's equipment look like that of a crude bumbler, to elephants, setting up thick pieces of metal that I do not believe I could have budged so much as an inch. There were perhaps sixty or seventy mammals total, most of them closer to the middle of the size spectrum than the two extremes that had caught my attention, but I saw further proof that Wilde had been quite correct in his assessment of Mr. Goredian. There was not so much as a single predator among their number.

The showroom had a truly impressive array of safes and lock boxes on display; I would not have guessed that there could be so many varieties, but there seemed to be a safe of just about every size. I looked round the room before spotting what looked near enough to an exact twin of the lock box that had held the gold within the vault of the Lemming Brothers Bank. "Something like this would do quite nicely," I said, walking over to it.

"Begging your pardon, madame, but this lock box may not be the best choice for your needs," Goredian said delicately, clearly trying to make his point without giving offense.

"Why ever not?" I cried, "Do you doubt that my husband and I have a collection of valuables sufficient to demand such a large safe?"

"Not at all, madame, not at all," Goredian said hastily, "I mean only that the design may not be the most practical for your day-to-day use. You see, the lid must be lifted off entirely, and it weighs the better part of twenty stones. Neither you nor your husband could do so alone, I am sure, nor even together."

"Is that not an extra security measure, then?" I asked, "For surely, neither could a fox."

Mr. Goredian laughed agreeably. "Certainly not! Your would-be thief would be quite unable to so much as lift a corner of the lid. However, a lock box such as this would always require the aid of servants to open and close it. I would recommend instead one of these standing safes."

He brought us over to a safe that looked quite similar to the lock box, had it had been stood on one of its ends. I made a show of inspecting it closely, peering at the lock. "Is the locking mechanism equally secure?" I asked, "It would be a fine state of affairs to make it easier for the thieves to open in the course of making it more convenient."

"We offer a variety of locks to suit your needs, any one of which may be used per your preference," Goredian said, "Whether you desire a combination lock, a key lock, or both together, a safe such as this shall be just as secure as that lock box."

I did not, of course, particularly care about the combination locks, for the bank's lock box had only a key to open it. "I would much prefer a key," I said, "For I should like to know that I hold on my body at all times the only means by which to open the lock."

Goredian opened a small display case holding a variety of keys and withdrew one. "This is our most secure key," he said proudly, showing off to me a key that looked very similar to the one that Mr. Lemming's servant, Garou, had worn around his neck.

Indeed, while the pattern was somewhat different, it was also a metal cylinder with a variety of grooves and protrusions, with a small triangle on the top to show how to insert it into the lock. "Every key is machined by my shop and quite impossible to copy. The tolerances are far too tight, and the features far too fine, to allow a mold to be successfully struck."

I recalled the mice I had seen setting up their equipment on the shop floor and was inclined to believe him. "You could, of course, make a pair of keys, so that my husband and I could each open the safe?" I asked.

"It would be an extra expense, but certainly so. No one else could do so, of course."

"Of course," I nodded, filing the information away.

"But could the lock be defeated by other means?" I asked.

I hardly expected him to be entirely honest, but I imagined that Wilde would be interested in knowing what the maker of the lock had thought. "Certainly not," Goredian said, "For the past twelve years, I have offered a prize of two hundred guineas to any mammal who could defeat one of my safes in less than twenty-four hours. No one has ever claimed it."

If I were a thief, I could imagine that there were certainly safes and lock boxes with contents worth quite a bit more than two hundred guineas. Two tonnes of gold, for example, far out-valued the prize Goredian offered, but I acted impressed. "A wonderful testament to the integrity of your product," I said, "But what significance does twenty-four hours hold?"

"Any safe can be cut open, given sufficient time, but my safes are designed to resist such action for as long as possible. The outer-most and inner-most layers of this safe are case-hardened steel, superior even to that which is used on the Royal Navy's battleships. Between these layers, to provide additional resistance to heat and flame, is our proprietary mixture of clay and asbestos. Should you keep papers, the house around the safe could burn down and the papers within it would be completely unharmed."

As he spoke, Goredian gestured at a cutaway safe on the showroom floor, indicating each layer in turn. Indeed, it seemed quite impossible for any mammal to cut open one of the safes within any reasonable amount of time. "The safe itself seems admirably secure," I said approvingly, "I am yet unconvinced, however, that the same is true of the lock."

Goredian smiled grimly. "Thieves may try, but my safes incorporate a number of innovations—of my own design—to prevent picking. The locks of the master locksmith who taught me, for example, were vulnerable to water."

"Water?" I echoed.

"Indeed. Some enterprising thieves discovered that if they filled the keyhole with water and allowed it to freeze, the expansion of the water as it turned to ice was sufficient to force apart the interior mechanisms and allow the lock to be opened. They would commit their crimes in the dead of winter, or else steal small safes and bring them to Tundra Town."

From the expression on Goredian's face as he continued, I surmised that the memory of his own ingenuity was among those that he held most dear. "My safes, however, have far stronger internal mechanisms and incorporate a pressure plate. Should anything other than the key be inserted, the tumblers will lock in position and only my factory will be able to open it."

I recalled the way by which the bank's lock box had been defeated, and wondered if he had given thought to molten lead in the course of his design. To ask directly, however, seemed likely to give Goredian cause for suspicion. I believed that I had learned about all that I could from Goredian, so I thanked him for his time. "I will, of course, have to consult with my husband before we make a final decision," I said, as I allowed Goredian to escort me out, "But you shall hear from me shortly."

Ideally, however, I would never see Goredian again. I left the Goredian Lock and Safe Company and hailed a cab, resolving that I would inform Wilde of everything I had learned. As I attempted to arrange the heavy skirts of my dress to make it sit more comfortably within the hansom, I amended my resolution somewhat; I would do so the moment I had changed out of the abominable dress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's not exactly a common unit of measure, I'll save you a trip to Google: twenty stones is 280 pounds, or about 127 kilograms. No matter what unit of measure you use, that's pretty heavy, although the mammals of Zootopia do vary quite a bit in size and strength compared to humans. There were major advances in metallurgy going on in the Victorian era; the use of case-hardened steel is appropriate for the time period, but would result in a very heavy and expensive safe. The knowledge of the negative health effects of asbestos dates to about 1900, but it is extremely fire-resistant, and it was widely used in the Victorian era for this property. The inventor of the Chubb detector lock (referenced in a couple of the original Sherlock stories) did offer a reward to anyone who could pick it, which took nearly twenty years for someone to claim.
> 
> There's a lot of details in this chapter, but I won't spoil the fun by saying which (if any) are important to the case. Parts of this chapter are in homage to _The Great Train Robbery_ , probably my favorite Michael Crichton book after _Jurassic Park_ and a definite inspiration for this story. It's a fantastic crime novel of a train robbery (kind of obviously) in the London of 1855 that I highly recommend.
> 
> This chapter is also something of a look at different shades of bigotry; there's more to the world than cruel, frothing-at-the-mouth bigots and pure, unbiased open-minded folks. I also enjoyed showing off Dr. Hopps's efforts at undercover work. I'm trying to be true to the spirit of both Watson in the original Sherlock stories and Judy's character in Zootopia by showing that Dr. Hopps is intelligent, competent, and observant. As always, I appreciate any and all feedback.


	8. Chapter 8

Upon arriving back at the flat, I was disappointed to realize that Wilde was out, although I could not help but be bemused at the idiosyncratic method by which he had left his note. He had secured it to the mantle of the fireplace by stabbing through it with a jack-knife; as I pried the knife free and plucked the note off the mantle I winced to think of what our landlady would say when she saw the gouge Wilde had created. The note itself had been written in my fellow-lodger's unmistakable neat and spidery handwriting, and read simply:

_If convenient, wait for me here. If inconvenient, wait all the same._

_-NW_

I shook my head in amazement at his unmitigated gall, but I had no pressing business to attend to, least of all that which would take me away from our suite of rooms. My lesson plans were progressing slowly but surely, and I had quite enough material in the flat to get on with them, should I be so inclined. However, I had not forgotten my resolution to change out of the dreadful dress Wilde had outfit me with, and decided to take a hot bath first. The cab ride back to the flat had been most unpleasant, as the October air of Zootopia outside the Rain-Forest District had quickly turned the humidity-dampened fabric of the dress cold. I was, as I have mentioned, still quite susceptible to low temperatures, and I feared that I would take a fever if I did not warm myself.

The suite of rooms did not, of course, have hot water on tap, as it was far too inexpensive for such a luxury, but I had a bathtub in my bed-room that served me well enough. One advantage of my small size, relative to many other mammals, was that it took hardly any time to heat up enough water on the fireplace to fill the little bathtub, and I was soon enjoying the warmth that seemed to seep through to my very bones. I left my bath with great reluctance only when my stomach made it known to me that I had neglected to eat at all that morning. I changed into a tea gown, reveling at how liberating it felt, and sent for a late breakfast from Mrs. Armadillo. The landlady's keen eyes spotted the mark on the mantle where the note had been secured, but she gave no reaction other than to purse her lips into a grim line. It was perhaps her displeasure that motivated the old armadillo to provide lukewarm pease pudding and a rather stale stottie cake, but I fell to it with great gusto all the same.

As I ate, I read the morning edition of the _Times_ with great interest. A proposal to create another district with an artificial climate was before the city council, and everyone from normal citizens to members of parliament had weighed in with letters to the editors, who were unabashed in making their own thoughts known. As a laymammal, the challenge of building an artificial desert seemed no more challenging than the construction of a simulacrum of a rain forest. However, every possible objection was being raised, from the cost that some lamented would be ruinous to the taxpayers, to the logistical difficulties of finding a suitable location, to the aesthetics. One worthy mammal had written in to bemoan that, unlike the Rain-Forest District, which with its lush greenery had become one of the crown jewels of the city, a desert district would be a blight upon the city, a barren eyesore. This opinion was, it seemed, quite a common one, though a fair number of mammals belonging to species adapted to the desert had written glowingly of the austere beauty which a desert alone could command. I had not lived in the city nearly long enough to take up the issue with the kind of passion either side of the debate had evinced, but I found myself sympathetic to those who wished the desert district to be built. While one wag had mockingly dubbed the proposed project Sahara Square due to his belief that no more than a single city block would be necessary to accommodate the few heat-adapted mammals who called the city home, and anything more was a waste of tax money, I knew a little of the discomfort that those mammals must experience on a daily basis. Considering the difficulty that I had experienced only that morning, I could imagine how unpleasant the city must feel to those adapted to a warm and arid climate.

My perusal of the newspaper was interrupted by the sound of a key in the lock, but my greeting died upon my lips when I saw the state that Wilde was in. The clothes, I was sure, could be forgiven as part of a disguise, for they were of poor quality and well-worn. I could not imagine, however, that his disguise would include the rips in his shirt or trousers or the bloody scratches visible underneath the cream colored fur where his chest had been exposed. Wilde's face, however, was what drew the largest part of my attention. His left eye was swollen nearly shut and the handkerchief he had clapped to his muzzle could not hide that his nose was freely streaming blood and staining his collar. "Wilde!" I cried, springing up from my chair at the table, "Are you quite all right?"

He waved off my concern even as he entered the flat and I moved to intercept him and take a closer look at his wounds. "I shall be rather less handsome for a time, but I do not believe I have any permanent injuries," he said, his voice somewhat nasal from his most obvious injury.

"You can be the judge of that once you hold a medical degree," I retorted.

I had dragged my chair with me and stood on it so that I could look the fox in the eye. "Have you had any dizziness? Confusion?" I asked as I tried to palpate his head to check for fractures.

"No more so than usual," he said, brushing my paws away, "I have already told you, I shall be fine. I had Finn, after all."

At this last, he gestured downwards casually, and I was startled to realize that Wilde had been accompanied by another fox. That I had overlooked him was quite understandable, I think, due both to my concerns for Wilde's injuries and the other fox's diminutive size. Indeed, the fox was even smaller than I was, dressed in somewhat grimy knickerbockers over an equally dirty shirt. The little fox's enormous eyes stared up at me from under the brim of a flat cap that seemed as though it could scarcely keep his ears against his skull. I had never before seen any mammal, not even my younger siblings when they could barely toddle, who seemed so perfectly formed to elicit sympathy. "Are you his son?" I asked the little fox gently, gesturing towards Wilde.

I supposed that Finn could have been apprenticed out, but it seemed peculiar to me that Wilde could have a kit and neither live with him nor mention him so much as a single time in the weeks we had spent together. Finn shook his head slowly, while Wilde gave an amused chuckle. "No son of mine," he said, and walked to the door of his bed-room, where I had left the dress and accouterments he had provided me for my morning activities.

I was left feeling somewhat foolish, standing on a chair while the tiny fox still stared up at me. I carefully climbed off the chair; I had learned to my misfortune several months ago that my injured leg could no longer support the sort of leaps I had once made unthinkingly. Wilde returned with the little beaded purse and from it pulled four coins which he presented to Finn. "A halfpenny a guard, as promised," he said cheerfully.

The little fox's demeanor suddenly entirely changed, his eyes narrowing to suspicious slits. "Weren't no ha'penny job, keeping your skull in one piece," he growled in a voice that was surprisingly deep and masculine.

I looked at Finn askance and realized that he was apparently fully grown and not a kit as I had imagined. "Oh, very well," Wilde said, digging back into the purse, "With a two shilling bonus for additional services."

Wilde had yet to pull the coins free before Finn spoke again. "You care about that head of yours?" Finn leered, and I swore there was the note of a threat in his gravelly voice.

"Let us call it a guinea insurance for my health," Wilde said, pulling out the appropriate coinage.

The little extortionist nodded in apparent satisfaction. "You take care, Nicky," he said, turning to leave.

Before Wilde could close the door behind him, Finn glanced over his shoulder and locked eyes with me. "There's talk," he said, in a way that gave me little doubt that he meant about me.

As Wilde shut the door and turned his attention towards me, I wondered, not for the first time, what kind of unsavory circles he moved in. "You had a productive morning, I hope?" he said, "Spare none of the details."

"Not until you tell me the business you were on, to come back like this," I said flatly.

"Nothing that would pose a danger to you," Wilde said, though if he meant it to be soothing the effect was quite lost due to his battered appearance.

When I stayed silent, Wilde gave a sigh and began to speak. "Last night, after you had gone a-bed, Trunkaby stopped by with the names I had requested."

I recalled that Wilde had asked for the names and addresses of the the security guards Mr. Lemming had fired. "While I spent the night preparing your dress—which I see you have already cast aside—I set Finn to track down the guards. Finn, you see, is the leader of Zootopia's most successful street urchins, who have proven their value to me on many an occasion by their ability to go almost anywhere unremarked."

It seemed a contradiction to me to speak of successful street urchins, but I assumed that Wilde meant the little bandits bilked more money than any of their competitors. "Are they all so old as he?" I asked.

Wilde laughed. "Hardly so," he said, "You may not guess it, from his nature, but he does have a soft spot for kits. Though it took them all night, shortly after we parted ways I received word that the security guards had been found."

"All four of them were wolves," Wilde continued, "Perhaps it was their pack mentality that kept them together after they were all let go; it was immediately obvious that they had no family relation, but they were this morning drinking their sorrows."

I did not need to glance at my pocket watch to know that it could not be more than half-past ten. "So early in the morning?" I asked, amazed by their impropriety.

"They were night guards, after all," Wilde said, "If you do not expect nocturnal mammals to drink during the day, they would never touch a drop."

I conceded his point with a nod, and rolled my paw to indicate that he should continue.

"I approached the group at their chosen bar, dressed as I am now. It did not take much to convince them that I was in similar position as they were, and I bought a few rounds to toast our new friendship. They were quite happy to drink on my coin, as most mammals tend to be; though the saying may be _in vino veritas_ I have ever found that beer works just as well. Their testimony of events prior to their firing matched precisely those described by Constable Clawhauser and Mr. Lemming, but I learned some additional items of interest from their loosened tongues. Although the bank does not hold to a regular schedule for the shipments of gold, in an effort to foil theft, for the past two years no more than three months have gone by without a shipment. Each time, it progresses in the same order. The stevedores unload the crate under the eyes of the guards; one shift of guards minds the bank while the other oversees the transport of the gold. After the crate passes an inspection of its labels, seals, and weight against the cargo manifest, it is transported to the bank on a carriage and locked in the auxiliary vault until the following day, when it is broken apart, the lock box opened, and the gold distributed."

With that, Wilde leaned back into his chair with a little wince of pain, apparently satisfied that his story was told.

"And what of your injuries?" I asked.

"I have already told you everything of consequence that has happened," he replied.

"I will not speak a word of my errand unless you complete the story of yours," I said.

Wilde sat silent a moment, and I wondered if he was running a mental calculation of the value of my testimony against what I imagined to be his wounded pride. At last, he spoke."After the fourth round of drinks, one of the wolves decided to repay the favor, but could not find so much as a penny in his pockets. He accused me of theft and events escalated how you must be capable of imagining them to."

I was shocked at the brutality that the wolves had visited upon my companion over an imagined slight. "That's terrible!" I cried.

Wilde laughed. "You have not seen them, then. Finn got rather the better of them, as no one expects an attack to come from ankle height."

His cheerful description of what I could only imagine to be vicious fighting reminded me of the great differences between us. While I had served in the military, I had always viewed my role as a doctor as taking precedence over my role as a soldier, and the casual view of violence the predators took was alarming. Perhaps it could be blamed on the drink, but no bunny would ever resort to such ends, no matter how much they imbibed. Still, I was not one to renege on my word, and I took the other seat by the fireplace and told Wilde all I had learned.

Throughout my monologue, Wilde made no interruptions, listening with his eyes shut. When at last I finished, he nodded approvingly. "You did well, for an amateur," he said, "With some guidance, I have no doubt that you could exceed even the best of those the police have as investigators."

I glowed inwardly at his praise, but I had to ask the question his statement naturally brought up. "Did you never think of becoming a police officer yourself?"

Wilde chuckled. "I would be quite wasted, walking a beat. My talents are better served consulting, for then I can pick only the interesting cases."

His glib answer had the ring of truth to it, but I could not help but think that it was not quite an answer to the question I had asked. Any further discussion, however, was precluded by Wilde pulling out his violin. When we had first met, he had not lied when he led me to believe that he was a talented violinist. Indeed, on many an evening he had played, filling the flat with the sweet sound of a surprising variety of music, though he was always willing enough to play my favorites. On this day, however, I would be hard-pressed to describe what he played as music. Occasionally the chords were fantastic and cheerful. Sometimes they were sonorous and melancholy. Clearly they reflected the thoughts which possessed him, but whether the music aided those thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the result of a whim or fancy was more than I could determine.

He was clearly not in the mood for any further discussion, so I retreated to the desk in my bed-room, trying to focus on my lesson plans even as my mind wandered to the case. Wilde carried on his playing for nearly an hour before he stopped suddenly and without warning. With Wilde no longer playing, I heard the sounds of heavy footfalls approaching the door to our flat, and guessed that it could only be Inspector Trunkaby.

The mammal at the door was indeed Trunkaby, and she showed no sign of any of the near-desperation that had been evident when last I had seen her. Indeed, she seemed rather pleased with herself, even as she politely declined Wilde's offer of a cup of tea.

"At last, the vessel matches its contents, does it?" Trunkaby said, after taking in Wilde's injuries and ruined clothing.

Wilde gave no reaction to the elephant's jibe. "I expect you think you have solved the case, then?" he said coolly.

"Indeed, Mr. Wilde," Trunkaby said, "I was quite premature in coming to you for assistance. While you have had some success with your little guesses, there is no match for experience after all. See here!"

The inspector pulled out a small cage, in which a miserable rat perhaps four or five inches tall was futilely scrabbling at the bars. He was a sorry representative of his species, dressed in filthy clothes even worse than those that Wilde was wearing. "I caught this one red-pawed, trying to pawn a fraction of the gold."

From a pouch at her belt, she withdrew a small drawstring bag and carefully emptied it into her palm. The misshaped little nuggets were, to my eye, undeniably gold, but Wilde gave them only a cursory glance before turning his attention to Trunkaby's unfortunate prisoner, who was shrilly proclaiming his innocence. "Weaselton's Pawn and Sundry, I suppose?" Wilde asked.

"You do have some small talent," Trunkaby said, "But clearly it did not occur to you to canvas the city's more disreputable pawnshops for a sudden increase in mammals attempting to sell gold."

"Indeed it did not," Wilde replied humbly, though I thought I could see the shadow of a smile at the corner of his muzzle.

"Mr. Waldheim here had nearly ten troy ounces of gold, and no good explanation for how he came by it," Trunkaby continued.

"That leaves, let us see, a mere sixty-four thousand two hundred and ninety-one troy ounces to go before you have all two tonnes accounted for," Wilde said sardonically.

"It's no business of yours, how I came by it," the rat squeaked defiantly, "I didn't steal no two tonnes of gold, neither."

"I imagine your tune shall change after some time on the treadmills," Trunkaby said severely, addressing Waldheim's interjection, "There cannot be any better motivator to give up your associates, though I already know the means by which you committed the crime."

"I would be very much interested in hearing that," Wilde said, and there was no doubt in my mind that he was attempting to hide his amusement.

"I didn't do it!" the rat proclaimed, but Trunkaby ignored him completely.

"It is obvious, of course, that the only mammals who could gain entry through the broken window pane are particularly small ones, such as Mr. Waldheim here, who could easily hide from the guards when they made their search."

Trunkaby's logic, to that point, certainly seemed sound. "They could also defeat the gates outside the vault by the simple means of squeezing through the bars, which would be no great challenge to them. I do not yet know how they made entry to the vault, but it is obvious how they stole the gold."

"Is that so?" Wilde asked.

"It was the sort of detail which only an expert investigator would catch, but clearly one of the greatest importance. There was a knothole in the wood planks that made up the shipping crate. Again, a trifling matter for a rat to slip through. Once inside the crate, they defeated the lock box by pouring molten lead into the keyhole and then made their escape by the same means as their entry."

"Well, you clearly have no further needs for my talents," Wilde said cheerfully, "Please, let me see you out."

"There is one more thing, inspector," Wilde said casually, as he walked Trunkaby to the door, "After you have finished interviewing Mr. Waldheim, there is one point I would very much be interested in hearing the answer to."

"I will happily tell the great Nicholas Wilde that which he cannot deduce himself," Trunkaby said with obvious enjoyment as she loitered outside the flat.

"How did an army of rats lift a lid weighing near enough to twenty stones?"

Trunkaby's face fell in a look of almost comical realization. "You needn't answer now," Wilde said as he swung the door shut, "I can wait."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to have cell service, let alone Internet access, for the next few days so I'm posting this chapter a couple days early, which I figured was better than a couple days late. The next chapter will go up as usual.
> 
> Nick's note is a variation on one which Sherlock sent to Watson in _the Adventure of the Creeping Man_ , which I think suits his character particularly well. Leaving a note pinned to the mantle of a fireplace with a knife is a reference to Sherlock's preferred method of storing his unread mail as described in _the Musgrave Ritual_. The original stories don't address what Mrs. Hudson thinks of this, but I doubt Sherlock is getting his security deposit back. Indoor plumbing with hot water is something that we pretty much take for granted now, but in 1881 you'd be pretty wealthy to have it, so Dr. Hopps's description of her bath is accurate to how someone from the middle class would have had to go about it. Continuing with some more little bits of world building, I imagine that this version of Zootopia isn't quite as diverse in its geography as the one in the movie, simply because of the limits of their technology. Building a desert equivalent of the Rain-Forest District I describe would certainly be possible for Victorian technology, but it'd probably be very difficult to keep it from leaking in the rain, which isn't really a problem for an artificial rain forest but definitely could be for a desert. Overall, I'm trying to convey that this is a city undergoing massive changes to fit the whole Victorian theme.
> 
> In the original Sherlock stories, Holmes is incredibly strong and a terrific fighter, but I figured it made more sense for consulting detective Nicholas Wilde to be kind of a pushover. I imagine that even in the original continuity of the movie, Nick isn't much of a fighter; it seems more likely that he'd rely on his mouth to get himself out of trouble. Which he probably got into because of his mouth. At any rate, this also allowed me to introduce an interpretation of Finnick that I thought made sense for the setting. I've blended in elements of Wiggins, leader of the Baker Street Irregulars from the original Sherlock canon, but retaining the fact that Finnick is an adult. It seemed like a good fit to me, and I enjoy the idea of the little guy fighting way above his weight class.
> 
> Anyone who's done a lot of running may believe this already, but treadmills really were used as a means of punishment. Considering that in the 19th century they were usually set up so they functioned like an endless staircase, it's easy to understand why prisoners considered them especially cruel. There were also those set up more or less the same as exercise wheels for pet rodents, which may make poor Mr. Waldheim's fate all the more appropriate.
> 
> I won't comment on the details of the case, as I don't want to spoil the fun, but there's still a fair amount of story left.


	9. Chapter 9

After closing the door, Wilde turned to me, a satisfied smile on his face. "Trunkaby will be back quite soon, I am sure. In the meantime—"

"Wilde, take off your jacket," I interrupted, my tone severe.

I had not paid it any particular attention when Wilde had returned, but he had not removed his jacket. Now, however, I saw a dark, sticky-looking spot on the back that had not been there before. "Taking a prurient interest, Doctor Hopps?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow, "Your attention is flattering, but I haven't the time. I really must be off."

As we spoke, I had interposed myself between him and the door. "A professional interest only," I said, "I'll hang propriety and chase after you, should you attempt to leave, but you shall not get far, bleeding as you are."

Wilde's mouth tightened, and I wondered if he would attempt to force his way past. Whether a crippled bunny would be stronger than an injured fox, I could not guess, but I would make the attempt rather than allow him to collapse on the street. We locked eyes for a long moment, but Wilde eventually yielded. "Very well," he said, "But make your examination a short one."

After Wilde straddled one of the chairs at the table so that his back was exposed and then gingerly shrugged off his jacket, the source of the bloodstain was quite obvious. Across the small of his back there were four parallel tears through the fabric of his shirt, underneath which was a bloodied handkerchief. "You were clawed in the back?" I asked, horrified.

I had seen, and treated, more than my fair share of grievous injuries while in the service, but never had I seen one so savage as the result of fighting. Even the occasional scrape between the enlisted mammals had never escalated beyond fists. No well-raised mammal would resort to teeth and claws, which were the province of kits and adults who had never learned the rules of society. Indeed, I myself had been clawed, though not nearly so severely as Wilde, when I was a kit, the perpetrator a young predator who had not mastered his inborn aggression.

"It _is_ generally safer for the attacker," Wilde said dryly, his head twisted round over his shoulder to watch my ministrations.

"It is cowardly. Hold this, please," I said, lifting up the sodden hem of Wilde's shirt and handing it to him.

While Wilde awkwardly held his shirt up, I gently removed the blood-soaked handkerchief and examined his wounds. To my relief, only one of them was deep; the wolf must have caught his back at an angle, so that while the highest claw mark was the most severe, it was also the shortest. The red-orange fur of Wilde's back was matted and tacky with blood, and while I took care with my fingers I could see the pain writ on Wilde's face with every touch. "I shall have to suture," I said.

"Are you quite sure?" he asked, sounding rather disappointed.

"Entirely," I said, "It shall not heal properly otherwise."

He sighed, but did not move. I put on the kettle as I gathered up the tools of my trade, and in short order I was ready. I prepared a solution of five per cent carbolic acid with the hot water, using a portion of it to first wash my paws and the rest to clean away the blood from Wilde's deepest wound. Once I was satisfied with my work, I took a fine silk thread and one of my curved needles and deftly stitched the wound shut. Wilde watched in silence, wincing a little at each poke, until I was finished. "I am not the only one with a talent for needle and thread, I see," he said admiringly.

He made to stand, but I ignored his attempts at flattery. I took him by the shoulder and firmly pushed down. "Not until you allow me to examine your other wounds," I said, somewhat concerned as to what else he might be hiding.

I could sense the impatience all but boiling off my reluctant patient, but he grudgingly pulled his shirt the rest of the way off and allowed it to drop to the floor, where it left a stain on the carpet that never came out. I made the rest of my examination with the rapid efficiency I had learned in the service, and was glad to realize that none of his other injuries were nearly as severe as the wound I had sutured. Wilde's swollen eyelid and the skin around his eye had blackened spectacularly, but the eye itself appeared uninjured and the socket was intact. I could feel a number of contusions underneath the downy fur of his face and the coarser fur of his torso, but nothing felt broken. Without a shirt, he seemed incredibly fragile, as though there was almost no substance to him underneath his fur; there did not seem to be so much as an ounce of fat on his lithe frame. None of Wilde's scrapes were deep enough to require suturing, but I daubed them with a tincture of iodine all the same and wrapped them with linen bandages. The deep cut to his back was the most dangerous should an infection take hold, but I had no reason to believe in the hygiene of the wolves who had attacked him. I had witnessed first-hand that even seemingly insignificant wounds could be fatal if not properly addressed and I would not allow my flatmate to perish of something so trivial, could it be helped.

When at last I announced that my ministrations were complete, Wilde immediately stood. "Thank you, doctor, but I cannot afford to waste any more time."

"You are in no shape to do anything but rest," I protested, "To say nothing of your injuries, you have not slept or eaten at all to-day, have you?"

I took Wilde's silence as a tacit agreement with my assessment. "This case cannot be so important to you as to risk your life solving it," I said.

Wilde paused, a flicker of intense emotion passing across his face, before he spoke. "When you were in the service, if your commanding officer ordered your unit to defend a hill to the last mammal, would you do so?"

"I would," I said promptly.

"If that is so, then why would you question the hill upon which _I_ am willing to sacrifice it all?"

Once again, I was struck with the realization that I understood very little of Wilde's nature. That he would be willing to sacrifice everything for a miserable lemming who cared not a whit for him struck me as some sort of intersection between nobility and foolishness. "If the order came down to hold a hill, I would do my level best to ensure that the other mammals of my unit could fight as long as they could," I said forcefully, "I would take up arms only if no others remained to do so, for that is my role as a surgeon soldier."

"Allow me to help you, if only to be present should you collapse," I added more gently, reaching out to grasp his large paw in my small one.

I was, to tell the truth, exaggerating somewhat in my assessment of the danger that Wilde was in. While he had been sitting and playing the violin, he had put enough pressure on his wound to prevent the worst of the bleeding, and it had already been in the process of clotting when I had examined it. Certainly, it would not have posed any real risk of causing him to perish by bleeding out, as I had first feared might be possible before I saw the source of the bloodstain. However, considering how hard he was pushing his body without food or rest, I did have some concern that he really might collapse.

Wilde gave me a long look as he slowly withdrew his paw from my grasp, and I wished that I could see the thoughts that went on inside his head. "I shall wait no longer than it takes me to change," he said, and retired to his bed-room.

I was willing to accept his terms and made my way to my own bed-room, closing the door and quickly changing out of the tea gown I was wearing. I noticed, with some disappointment, that the fabric had become flecked with my companion's blood, but even if it was ruined I would consider it a small price to pay for ensuring Wilde's continued health. In short order I was in nearly the same outfit I had been wearing when Wilde and I first met, and I was un-surprised to be out of my bed-room well ahead of him. Considering Wilde's injuries, changing his clothes must have been a laborious task indeed, and I took the time that I had to ensure that my service revolver was in fine working order and safely stowed in my pocket. At last, however, he was prepared, far more freshly dressed, and we left the suite together, Wilde hailing a hansom.

"The corner of Mustelid and Eighth Street, as quick as you please," Wilde ordered the cab driver.

When we were in the back of the hansom, sitting opposite each other, Wilde spoke again. "Trunkaby will be at her futile little interrogation for at least an hour or so, before Waldheim yields or she realizes that she is on entirely the wrong trail. If she takes the most reasonable course of action for a mammal in her position, she will consider how the lock box had its lock defeated; I would daresay that she shall ask Mr. Goredian's company to assist the police."

"You sound skeptical that she shall get any results, from either course of action," I observed.

"The impossible may be eliminated from consideration with no further thought," Wilde said, "Consider the sequence of events that must have occurred for Trunkaby's theory to be correct. First, neither a single rat nor an army of them could throw a cobblestone through a window, lest they had a trebuchet."

There was, of course, an obvious counterpoint, but Wilde continued before I could speak it, "They could have had a larger mammal as an accomplice, but that only raises more questions than it answers. While Trunkaby is quite correct that a clever and determined group of rats could evade detection by the guards—dullards to the mammal, I would say—how could they open the vault? The door swings on its hinges freely enough while it is open, but there is no means of obtaining leverage while it is closed that they could employ undetected; the door is simply sized for too large a mammal compared to a rat. The truly ridiculous nature of Trunkaby's theory, however, begins with her claim that the army of rats squeezed through a knothole and then opened the lock box. Even should they somehow exhibit strength far in excess of any rat to ever live and get the lid open inside the crate after defeating the lock, the gold could not be transported intact. A bar of bullion is the size of a brick and weighs at least twice what you do; no rat could carry one, nor get it through a knothole if they could."

"The gold with which Mr. Waldheim was caught was not in the form of bullion," I objected, "Could it not have been divided into more manageable pieces before it was removed?"

"There were no signs of it in the lock box or on the remains of the crate," Wilde, "Even a methodical thief would have left behind a bit of gold dust, no matter how much care they took. Besides, Waldheim's gold did not come from the bank."

"I thought we were venturing to the pawnshop Trunkaby referenced to determine how Mr. Waldheim came by his gold," I said, not understanding the purpose of our trip.

Wilde had not directly stated our destination, but it seemed a reasonable conclusion. My companion shook his head. "Half marks, Dr. Hopps. While we are going to Weaselton's pawnshop, there is no need to determine how Waldheim came by his gold; this I already know."

"How the devil did you deduce that?" I cried.

Wilde settled back in his seat, his expression quite smug. "It was simplicity itself. Gold bullion is, as a rule, twenty-four karats, while more than half the little bits of gold Trunkaby showed were no more than sixteen karats, and one could not have been more than ten. The sole piece of gold in her little exhibit that was twenty-four karats was unmistakably gold foil, folded on itself many times."

"You were able to tell all that from a glance?" I asked, rather impressed.

Certainly, I would not have been able to distinguish different alloys of gold from each other, let alone with the kind of precision Wilde seemed to be claiming. "The luster is unmistakable, with sufficient practice," he said, "Considering Waldheim's appearance, it was trivial to determine the source of his gold. Had he been born seventy or eighty years earlier, he would doubtlessly have been one of the scavengers after the Battle of Waterloon."

As a former officer, I was well up enough on my military history to realize what Wilde was implying. "His gold came from the dental fillings of corpses?" I asked, disgusted.

"There can be no doubt," Wilde said, "In addition to explaining the rather irregular nature of the pieces, it also neatly explains his appearance. He was, as you no doubt noted, filthy from head to toe."

I had noticed, but it had meant nothing more to me than that Waldheim was in need of a thorough scrubbing. "The mixture of stains from the darker, black dirt closest to the surface and the blue-gray of Zootopian Clay deeper down tells me that Waldheim was burrowing into graves at a not insignificant depth, most likely near to the harbor where the clay is closest to the surface. The cemetery at St. Ninian's Church can be entirely ruled out, as while it is in the correct location, rodent-scale burials do not take place at a sufficient depth to strike clay and none of the mammals interred there would have fillings nearly so large as what Trunkaby showed. I would say that All Saints' Cemetery is the most likely spot where Waldheim did his nasty business, almost certainly at fresh plots where the soil was still quite loose and well mixed."

If Wilde was correct, and I had little reason to suspect that he was not, grave robbing would also go a long ways in explaining Waldheim's reluctance to confess where the gold had come from, for it was a serious crime indeed. "That is a rather clever conclusion," I said, "But why then are we headed for this Weaselton's pawnshop?"

"What do you know of fencing?" Wilde asked in response.

I frowned. Due to my experience on the family farm and in the service, I had some experience at both types, though neither seemed particularly relevant to the situation at hand. "I am rather better at putting up fences than swordplay," I confessed, and was puzzled when Wilde broke into a fit of laughter that ended with him clutching at where I had stitched him up and wincing in pain.

I started to move from my seat opposite my companion to examine how my handiwork had held up, but he motioned me to stay where I was as he recovered.

"You are not experienced with criminals, I see," he said, smiling, "Weaselton is a fence, or a receiver of thieves; that is, he purchases stolen goods for a pittance and resells them for a considerable profit."

I felt my ears redden in embarrassment that Wilde had caught out my naïvety,and while he did not seem inclined to tease any further I have no doubt that his sharp eyes had seen my reaction. "An honest mammal such as yourself should take pride in your ignorance of theives' cant," he said, and I was grateful to allow the topic to drop, though I had cause once more to wonder at the means by which Wilde came by his knowledge.

When we disembarked from the hansom, I understood why Wilde had directed the driver to an intersection. While Eighth Street was a proper street, wide enough to permit many carriages in motion in both directions, Mustelid Street was scarcely wider than an alleyway, and our carriage could no more have traveled down it than a camel could fit through the eye of a needle. Indeed, I imagined that Inspector Trunkaby might nearly have had to turn sideways to navigate the twisting and meandering path while en route to the pawnshop.

On our way down Mustelid Street, carefully side-stepping dubious puddles and bits of rotting refuse, Wilde stopped at an alley that made the street seem luxuriously wide where a little waif of a ferret kit was selling matches. She held up four bundles with one paw and raised a single finger on the other, and Wilde clearly understood her meaning for he gave her a penny in exchange for the proffered four bundles. She stood and gave him a little curtsy of her filthy dress as she accepted his coin, then sat back down on the cobblestones of the alley. "Is Weaselton still in his shop, then?" Wilde asked as he pocketed the matches.

The ferret nodded mutely, still having said not so much as a word. Wilde doffed his hat, then bent over and pressed a halfpenny into her palm. "My thanks, Molly," he said, and she smiled up at him with a mouthful of sharp teeth that gleamed a pearly white out of the gloomy shadow of her alley.

Once we were out of earshot, I looked up at Wilde. "One of Finn's urchins, then?"

"Indeed," Wilde said, "An actual kit, unlike him."

My recollection of Finn brought to mind something that I had quite ignored at the time, my attention having been solely consumed by Wilde's injuries upon his return. "Whatever did Finn mean?" I asked.

My companion looked down at me, a bemused expression on his face. "He meant to injure me further, should I not pay him more than we had previously agreed."

I had no doubt that Wilde was being deliberately obtuse. "I understood his meaning there well enough," I said, "But what did he mean when he said there was talk?"

Wilde stopped walking, and I followed suit. "The wolves who caused my injuries did not have so much as a kind word to say of Garou," he said, turning to face me.

It seemed to me like a complete non sequitur, to change topics from Finn to the wolf who acted as Mr. Lemming's primary servant, but I did not speak, waiting for Wilde to elaborate. "They think Garou is Mr. Lemming's dog, tamed and thoughtlessly obedient. They felt diminished, you understand, to be lower than even so meagerly ranked a wolf."

I could not claim to be anything like an expert on wolves, though there had been enough of them in the army for me to know that they would consider it a serious insult indeed to be called a dog. "Yours is not the only reputation that may suffer from our cohabitation, Dr. Hopps," he said, "There are those predators for whom there is nothing lower than serving prey."

"It should be plainly obvious that you are not my servant," I protested, "Besides, that is absurd. Predators are outnumbered by prey ten to one; it is only the natural order of things that so too shall prey hold power."

Wilde made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. "Who am I to argue with the natural order?" he said, turning to continue down the street, "Come along, our destination is just ahead."

Three tarnished brass balls, the traditional symbol of a pawnbroker, hung off a wrought iron post above a grimy and dusty window displaying a variety of goods, from a silk top hat a bit too large for a bunny to a golden pocket watch to a silver mouth organ. Peeling gilt letters upon the glass proclaimed, "Weaselton's Pawn and Sundry," and I knew we had reached our destination. I pulled open the door and walked in, a bell announcing our presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The description of medical care in this chapter is, to the best of my ability, an accurate description of care provided by a good doctor in the late 19th century. The importance of hand washing in medicine was known since 1847, when Ignaz Semmelweis made the connection between high infant mortality rates and physicians not washing their hands between dissecting corpses and delivering babies. Unfortunately, Semmelweis's ideas flew in the face of the medical establishment and he also had an abrasive personality, which resulted in his work largely being ignored until the father of modern surgery, Joseph Lister (also the inventor of Listerine), in 1865 published his own work. With the germ theory of infection more developed at that time, Lister's techniques became widespread, while Semmelweis died that same year of an infection following a beating administered by the guards of the asylum he had been committed to. Carbolic acid was Lister's disinfectant of choice, and worked quite well, as did tinctures of iodine, which is basically iodine and alcohol. Disinfectants were particularly important considering that antibiotics did not become available until 1942, and an infection could easily be a death sentence. Silk made the most sense to me as the material for a suture, as the other widely used material in the 19th century—catgut—wouldn't make sense for the setting. I thought that it made sense for Dr. Hopps to be on the forefront of medical practice, as I don't think it fits her character well to be one of the old-guard establishment doctors who were highly resistant to the advances in medicine made during the Victorian era.
> 
> Dr. Hopps's comment about hanging propriety by chasing after Wilde if she has to may not make much sense to our modern sensibilities, but it does within the context of the Victorian setting. Although the tea gown that she was wearing is perfectly modest by our standards (it's essentially a European interpretation of a kimono), in the time period they were only appropriate to wear within the home, not out on the street. There's not quite a modern equivalent, but it'd be a bit like wearing pajama pants. As I was personally reminded this past week, unless you're on a college campus wearing them outside in public isn't going to be considered exactly proper, even though they're not at all revealing.
> 
> There's some more detail in this chapter about the gold. Banks use bars of bullion, which in the modern era are typically sized at 11 to 13 kilograms, or about 24 to 28 pounds. There may have been more variation in the past, but I'm using that as the estimated weight of each bar of gold in this case. Considering that in chapter 1 I referenced 4 pounds (a bit under 2 kilograms) as almost a third of Dr. Hopp's weight prior to her illness, she probably wouldn't be able to lift one, to say nothing of a rat that's considerably smaller. It's also true that gold bars are 24K, meaning that they are essentially pure gold, rather than alloys; 18K gold is 18 parts gold, 6 parts other metal (out of 24 parts), and so on for lower numbers.
> 
> The reference to scavengers after the Battle of Waterloo in 1815 is true to history; there were people who looted the corpses of the soldiers, and teeth were taken in addition to any other valuables, but the primary goal wasn't to get precious metals from fillings. Instead, the teeth were taken for use in dentures, and up through at least the 1850s there was still some demand for donor teeth in making dentures. By 1881, when this story is set, England had passed laws that prevented just anyone from calling themselves a dentist and providing dental services and advancements in processing rubber and porcelain meant that dentures didn't use real teeth anymore. The best fillings from this time period would have been 24K gold foil, carefully manipulated and worked over to precisely fill the hole left by drilling out the decaying portion of the tooth. However, dentists would also use other cheaper materials, from gold alloys that worked nearly as well as gold foil to materials that didn't, including tin and lead.
> 
> Zootopian Clay is a reference to London Clay, which really is a bluish-gray clay found under London and was used in brick-making for decades. St. Ninian's Church is a reference to the church of the same name from the Redwall series, while All Saints' Cemetery is a real cemetery in London that opened in 1840 and was still having burials take place in the 1880s.


	10. Chapter 10

In contrast to the outside of the shop and the surrounding neighborhood, the interior of Weaselton's pawnshop was well-kept. The wooden planks of the floor looked freshly scrubbed without so much as a speck of dust in the corners, and the many glass cases that filled the room were all neatly polished, with not so much as a stray mark upon any of them. At a low counter near the back of the store, a weasel, who I assumed to be the proprietor, was wrapping a package for a jill stoat. Neither of them looked up from their transaction as my companion and I entered the pawnshop, and I split off from Wilde and began to peruse the display cases while waiting for him to begin whatever business had brought him.

I was looking over a display of silverware when the weasel I assumed to be Weaselton himself suddenly interrupted me. His clothes were all of the finest material, but the overall appearance he gave was not of a wealthy mammal; while I can claim no great knowledge of fashion, the individual pieces seemed to clash in style and his shirt was far too short for his lanky torso besides. When he spoke, he revealed a number of shining golden teeth, and I repressed a shudder at the memory it conjured of Waldheim and his ghastly method of obtaining gold. I was perhaps not entirely successful, for Weaselton's smile widened in a way that struck me as predatory as he began his attempt to get me to purchase his wares. If he thought that I was a timid little bunny who could be intimidated into purchasing something which I did not need, he would quickly find himself entirely wrong.

"Looking for silverware, madame?" he asked, his voice oily, "You've come to the right place. This here is my finest set. One hundred and twenty-five pieces, suitable for twenty-five. Enough for you, the mister, and all your kits, I expect."

I did not think that I liked Mr. Weaselton, nor his insinuation that, simply because I was a bunny, I must have an enormous brood. "I have no kits," I said shortly, looking over Weaselton's shoulder as I attempted to spot my companion to let him know that the weasel had concluded his business with the stoat.

My refutation did not seem to faze Weaselton at all; with a smooth gesture he unlocked the display case into which I had been looking and pulled out the tray which showed off each of the utensils that was part of the set. "Enough for the folks, then, when they come to visit, and plenty enough as spares, eh? Pure silver this is, an absolute bargain."

"Why do you suppose I can see the base metal, then?" Wilde said, having appeared at my side and lifting one of the forks to examine it critically, "It looks to me as though this set is rather well worn."

Weaselton shot Wilde a hateful glance before attempting to resume the sale, "Pure silver over a core of brass, that is, but finer all the same for it. I can be with you in a moment, Wilde, once my business with this fine young doe is concluded. Wait outside, why don't you?"

There was clearly no love lost between the weasel and the fox, and Weaselton's dubious charms had dropped away entirely when he spoke to my companion. Wilde simply chuckled, and clapped Weaselton on the shoulder as though he were greeting an old friend. "Dr. Hopps here is my personal physician, and is only present to ensure my continued good health."

Weaselton looked me up and down warily, seeming to reevaluate me in the light of Wilde's somewhat exaggerated claim. "A bunny?" he asked skeptically, "What could a bunny know of foxes other than to avoid them?"

"I would not discredit her so quickly," Wilde said, before I could comment on the odious weasel's dismissal of my abilities, "She was able to patch me up well enough."

Weaselton turned to Wilde, and seemed to for the first time recognize his injuries. Though the worst of them were hidden beneath Wilde's fresh clothes, his blackened eye and the swollen bruise along his muzzle were obvious enough to the untrained eye, even through Wilde's fur. "Poke your nose where it didn't belong, did you?" Weaselton asked with a cruel laugh, "Send him my way and I'll buy him a drink."

"I am afraid that I cannot," Wilde said, "Perhaps you could visit the four of them in Muirbank, though; I expect they would be rather glad for such charming company to break up the monotony of life imprisoned."

I did not know if Wilde was speaking the truth, but I hoped that he was, as it would be justice served if the wolves who had beaten him were imprisoned for their crime. Weaselton's ears flickered and I would swear that he blanched beneath his fur. "I'm an honest businessmammal, I am, and I ain't liking your words, Wilde," he said, and I heard that the vaguely posh accent he had taken with me had slipped away entirely, revealing something far more base in much the same way that his supposed silverware was but a veneer of silver over brass.

"Let us be honest together, then," Wilde said mildly, "I recently came off rather the worse with a group of wolves."

Weaselton gave a snort of disdain. "This shop is above board, Wilde; I have no dealings with criminals," he said, seeming to recover some of his composure and most of his affected accent, but his hackles were raised and his eyes darted back and forth between my companion and the exit.

I was very much skeptical of Weaselton's claims, but Wilde did not object, and simply continued, his tone staying gentle. "The wolves who saw fit to attempt to rearrange my features also damaged my watch in the scuffle," Wilde told Weaselton, and he pulled a watch from his pocket and put it on the counter, "I shall need a replacement, until I can arrange for it to be repaired, and your shop seemed the place to visit."

"It is a great pity to see something so pretty so damaged," I said when I saw the watch, and it was the truth.

Wilde's pocket watch had been pretty indeed; it was a hunter-case watch all of sterling silver, and the lid was delicately engraved with floral patterns that looked almost like real flowers made of metal, so fine was the detail. The lid was bent, however, and did not close fully, and the glass of the watch had shattered. The minute hand had fallen off and the hour hand was twisted at an angle. On the inside of the lid there was a portrait miniature of a vixen done in gouache, and I could not help but wonder who she was. His mother seemed to me the most likely option; I somehow found it difficult to imagine Wilde romantically entangled. His passion for his work, from what I had seen, was so all-encompassing that there seemed to be room for little else. Whoever the vixen was, the artist had taken great care in their depiction of her, for while some of my fellow officers had owned watches quite a bit finer than Wilde's, none of theirs had been painted nearly so well as his. Indeed, though the image was somewhat chipped and cracked from the damage to the lid, it was quite obviously the work of a master.

Wilde gently closed his watch as far as he could, then returned it to his pocket. "It is kind of you to say so, Dr. Hopps," he said, with a small smile, "But I shall heal up quick enough."

Weaselton ignored Wilde's little jest, and seemed at last to relax fully. "Over there," he said, nodding to a display case filled with nothing but watches.

Even as my companion and I moved to the case he had indicated, Weaselton did not take his eyes off of us, and I could feel his stare on the back of my neck as we looked at the weasel's inventory together. There were some fine watches indeed in the display case, but one in particular caught me eye, and I pointed it out to Wilde. "This one, I think," I said, pointing.

The watch that I had selected was, like Wilde's damaged watch, a silver hunter-case design, but whereas his had floral patterns, the watch lid was engraved with an image of the planets and their orbits around the sun, circling around which were the words " _E pur si muove_."

"The engraving is executed well enough," my companion observed, "Though it is a curious choice of subject matter. A reminder, Doctor, of the worthless knowledge you insist upon filling my head with?"

I shook my head, smiling. I recalled that, shortly after we had first moved in together, I had remarked upon an article in the newspaper about work done by astronomers to find moons around other planets. Wilde had professed total ignorance of the way in which the planets orbit the sun, and I did not know if it was his little joke or if he really did bother to learn only that which would be an aid in his work. In any case, it was not my intent to remind him of the incident, and I told him as much. "No reminder," I said, "Only that this watch is closest in style to yours and likely the least expensive."

Indeed, the watches which the proprietor had put out were mostly of gold; there was not so much as a single watch such as mine, a simple thing all of steel in the open-faced style without a lid. "Very well then," he said, and called Weaselton over to begin negotiating on the price.

As the two predators made their agreement, I found myself wondering at Wilde's ulterior motive. Certainly, it did not strike me as likely that he would go to visit Weaselton in particular if all he needed was a watch, for there had to be dozens of other shops that would have served just as well, and he had told me that Weaselton dealt in stolen goods. I was still puzzling the pieces in my mind when they struck an agreement, and Weaselton gave the watch over to Wilde after the fox paid him. After Wilde had securely attached the watch to his chain and placed it in his pocket, he leaned casually over the counter rather than turning to leave. "There is one more thing," he said, and Weaselton tensed.

"You would not have heard word of any safe cracker capable of defeating a Goredian, would you?"

"I told you I have no dealings with criminals," Weaselton said tightly, and I noticed with some alarm that he had slowly maneuvered both paws beneath the counter, "Keep asking questions and you shall answer to one of my friends. I have those on the force and one rather _big_ friend who does not much care for you."

Wilde smiled brightly. "All I ask is that you keep your ears open," he said, "Thank you for the watch, Duke."

With that, he gave a nod to the weasel and serenely exited while I quickly followed after. Once we were outside, I turned to my companion and spoke. "I must confess, I am unsure what our little errand has accomplished, besides getting you a new watch."

"A particularly fine one at that," he said, "But we did not visit Weaselton because I wished to learn anything in particular."

"He is obviously a criminal," I protested, "Surely he must know something of value, or hear from those who do."

"It is not that I wish him to keep his ears open," Wilde said, "Rather, it is his mouth that I expect him to. He shall be quite eager, I expect, to pass along that which I have told him, and young Molly will be keen on his heels."

I frowned, trying to follow Wilde's thread of logic. He had implied to Weaselton that he was looking for someone capable of defeating a lock made by Goredian's company, which to the best of my knowledge was true enough. However, Wilde had now just told me that he expected Weaselton to pass along that he was looking for a safe cracker, and learn from the little urchin matchstick kit who he told. "A trap, then," I said slowly, as I puzzled it out, "You already know the means by which the lock was defeated."

Wilde nodded approvingly. "I would not go so far as to say that," he said modestly, "Only that I have narrowed it down to three possibilities, and Weaselton may be of some use in determining if one of them is correct. If my theory is wrong, at the very least I have done my part to irritate him to-day, and that on its own is a victory, would you not say?"

I laughed. I found myself having no sympathy for the weasel, who had dismissed my abilities simply because of my species and was so rude to my companion. I did not know what history the two mammals shared, and perhaps Wilde's was as unsavory as Weaselton's had seemed. Still, I found myself inclined to give Wilde the benefit of the doubt, as he had, repeatedly, proven himself to be a predator like no other. "You shall have to tell me why he dislikes you so," I said, "Though he certainly did little enough to ingratiate himself to me."

"Some other time, I am afraid. We have one more stop to make before finding Trunkaby at the police station," Wilde said, his tone completely business-like as we walked out of the narrow gloom of Mustelid Street and back onto the far wider and busier arterial road that it intersected.

Wilde hailed a cab, and we were off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From about the 1840s and onward, electroplating base metals with silver was a popular way of making silverware, since the result is far less expensive than pure (or even sterling) silver; electroplated coatings are very thin and not much silver is used. However, that also means that heavy use or improper care can easily wear away the thin layer of silver and expose the base metal underneath, as was the case with the silverware Weaselton aggressively tried to push on Dr. Hopps. Going from a bootleg DVD seller to a pawnshop owner is at least something of a step up in respectability, but Weaselton is clearly not on the level as he claims. Muirbank Prison is a takeoff of Millbank Prison; the real Millbank Prison was built on a marsh, and "muir" is the Scots word for "moorlands" and is pronounced somewhat similar to "meow" with an "r" at the end. Millbank Prison was used as a holding site for prisoners prior to transporting them to penal colonies (notably Australia), but when transportation stopped being used as a punishment in 1868, it became a regular prison until it closed in 1890. It did have a very well earned reputation, however, as one of the worst places that a prisoner could end up, as its location, design, and the treatment of the prisoners all conspired to make it a brutal punishment, where disease, malnutrition, and mistreatment were rampant. Victorian justice may seem pretty horrible to our modern sensibilities, where solitary confinement and hard labor were common punishments for crimes that today would result in far less severe consequences.
> 
> Wilde's pocket watch being a hunter-case design is a bit of irony, since the style was named due to being favored by fox-hunting nobles in England; it's the general term for a pocket watch that has a lid to protect the glass from damage. Wristwatches did not become common until the 20th century after WWI, when it became widely recognized that they were much more convenient in warfare and their practicality overcame their previous stigma as being feminine. Gouache is a type of painting very similar to watercolor, although it is opaque rather than transparent. Pocket watches became widely affordable in the 19th century, and particularly among the well-to-do were personalized with miniature paintings or photographs. The question Dr. Hopps poses as to who would be important enough to Wilde for him to carry a picture of her around is a good one; his mother is certainly a reasonable guess, but not necessarily the right one.
> 
> The Italian (Itailian?) phrase "E pur si muove" means "And yet it moves," and is attributed to Galileo; he supposedly said it after he was forced to recant his belief that the Earth orbited the sun. The intended meaning is that facts are true whether or not you believe them, which seems appropriate for a detective. Wilde's claim of ignorance as to how the solar system works is a reference to the very first Sherlock Holmes story, A Study in Scarlet, where Sherlock does the same, claiming that he curates his memories to only consist of things useful to his detective work. In this story, I'd be more inclined to believe that Wilde's joking; considering the kind of prejudice Dr. Hopps has shown, she was likely being somewhat condescending when describing the article she references. It is true, however, that the 19th century saw the discovery of many moons; Deimos and Phobos were both discovered in 1877, just a few years before this story is set, and an article on how astronomers do their work is the sort of puff piece that you might have encountered on a slow news day, particularly considering the Victorian fascination with progress.


	11. Chapter 11

I did not recognize the address that Wilde had given the cabbie, which was hardly surprising considering my limited knowledge of Zootopia's streets. Although Wilde had been rather tight-lipped about his past with Weaselton, my curiosity about the weasel and our peculiar errand was still inflamed, and I tried a different line of questioning as the hansom navigated its way through the crowded streets. "Why did Trunkaby not arrest Weaselton along with Waldheim?" I asked, "Surely he would be a mammal of interest, at the least."

Wilde paused a moment before responding, his fingers steepled. "It is a dangerous game, the one that Weaselton plays," he said at last, when I had begun to think that he would not answer at all, "He has the ears of constables and criminals alike, and either side thinks the balance of what he gains them outweighs that of which he costs them. It is a delicate spot, to be sure, and one of which Trunkaby is well aware."

"Delicate indeed," I murmured, "I cannot imagine that criminals are particularly inclined to forgive betrayal."

"Nor constables," Wilde added, smiling slightly, "There will come a day when Weaselton knows something of such value that any action, whether it is to reveal it or keep the secret, will end poorly for him if the other side finds him out."

From Wilde's earlier comments, I would guess that the day of which he spoke had yet to come, although certainly the theft of two tonnes of gold would fit the criteria he had described, had Weaselton possessed the appropriate knowledge. "I imagine Trunkaby did not mention the bank robbery to him, then," I said.

"I would imagine not," Wilde agreed, "Nor did I; though it is doubtlessly futile, I have kept it close to my chest."

I recalled that Wilde had mentioned, before I cajoled him into taking the case, his belief that the bank would want to keep the theft unknown, lest it cause a run on their deposits. "I am not sure I understand why it is futile," I said.

"Only because there is no keeping it a secret," he answered, "There are four wolves, at least, who have no reason to keep their muzzles shut; even if they did show greater loyalty than Mr. Lemming is owed, I cannot imagine all of his other employees who know of the theft would do the same. Some mammal among them would gratefully cut off their nose to spite their face, if ruining Lemming cost them nothing more than their job."

I wondered at Wilde's statement. Would Garou, Mr. Lemming's seemingly faithful servant, betray his boss? I could not imagine it was an easy or rewarding job, to work for the little tyrant. Wilde and I lapsed into silence as I pondered on what I knew of the case so far, and wondered more on what Wilde knew but had not yet told me. His nature had a touch of the theatrical, I was sure, and I would guess that his reluctance to lay out his theories in full was informed at least partially by his desire to be proven spectacularly correct when he could demonstrate how the theft was done, in every minute detail. I was thinking on it still when the hansom hit what must have been a particularly sizable pothole and we were jostled about the cab, my cane and Wilde's umbrella leaping from their position on the floor to strike the ceiling.

Even were I not a doctor, it would have been transparently obvious the pain it had caused Wilde. His ears had gone flat back against his skull and his eyes were tightly screwed shut. His muzzle was twisted into a grimace that exposed his glittering canines, and he gave a sharp little hiss before he opened his eyes. I had already begun to move from my seat opposite his towards him, but he gently intercepted my paw in his own much larger one before I could pull up his shirt to check on his wound. Even as he was, weakened by injury and using but a fraction of his strength, he had my paw held fast. "It has not started bleeding again," he said, before adding in a lighter tone, "Though it is well that you stitched me up; else I expect my insides would be on my outsides now."

The cabbie, a sour zebra, called back a rather insincere sounding apology, and Wilde let go of my paw and eased himself back into his seat. I followed suit and sat back down on my side of the cab, but I persisted with words rather than actions. "You are sure you are fine?" I asked, "It was beastly, what those wolves did to you."

"I have more important concerns at the moment," Wilde replied, and I supposed that it was about as close to a "No" as his stubborn pride would allow him to go.

When we arrived at our destination a few moments later, I was again given cause to wonder at the curious paths the fox's mind worked along, for we were in front of a fish and chip shop which Wilde entered as soon as he paid the zebra who had pulled the hansom. I followed after Wilde, and the stench of cooked meat, which had been strong enough outside the shop, became overpowering inside, sending my stomach roiling. I could not begrudge predators their need to eat meat, but I wondered at how they could manage to keep it down; I had stood on battlefields that smelled better. Doubtlessly it was the primeval part of their brains that made something so barbaric seem appetizing; Wilde for his part perked up his nose, seeming to enjoy the charnel miasma. Desperate to distract my mind, I looked around the shop, focusing on the details. It was plainly made, all of wood and plaster, but fastidiously neat. The shop was rather small, divided into an area for customers to queue and the kitchen, separated by a battered wooden counter polished to a high sheen. Behind the counter, a large cauldron of oil bubbled away atop a coal fire, and the draught of the chimney was not quite sufficient to prevent the shop from filling with a mild haze of smoke. Also behind the counter was a sea otter, perhaps forty or fifty years of age, wearing a dress with its sleeves rolled up to show her thick forearms, over which she wore an apron splattered here and there with grease. There were only a few mammals in the queue ahead of us, and none at all behind us, and in short order my companion was able to get the otter's attention.

Wilde sidled up to the counter, and leaned over to address the otter. "You must be Dorotka," he said, giving her what I imagined must be his most charming smile, "I can see why Captain Lutrinaski named the _Darling Dorotka_ as he did."

"He name it long time ago," she replied with a thick accent that I could not place, "I old and fat now."

Wilde waved his arm dismissively. "Nonsense, my dear," he said, "I understand now why he speaks so fondly of you."

"He like boat better," Dorotka replied, but she was smiling now, "Go on, flatterer."

"The truth is never flattery," he said smoothly, "But I was hoping to find your husband. Not away at sea again already, is he?"

"Why you look for?" she asked, her expression becoming guarded.

"Oh!" my companion said, his eyes widening, and his ears dropping in apparent embarrassment, "I did not think of how this must look."

I strongly suspected that he was not being sincere, but I did not say anything; due to my height I did not believe that the otter had seen me, as the top of my head was several inches under the counter, and I did not want to interrupt my companion at his work. "It is nothing untoward, I assure you," he said, "I had a reminder, recently, of the debts I owe."

At this last, he gestured at his blackened eye. "Aleš no drink or gamble," Dorotka said, eyeing Wilde suspiciously.

"I will be well served to take after him," Wilde confessed, "Though I have won quite handsomely, it was nothing like a sure thing. I mean to repay those who helped me with my profits and lay down my dice and cards for good. Your husband did me a great favor once, hiring me on when no one else would, and I would very much like to see him rewarded."

I felt that my suspicion of Wilde favoring the otter with outright lies was all but confirmed, as I could scarcely imagine the fox working aboard a ship, although I could see him whiling away his time at gambling. "Aleš always have soft heart," the otter grumbled, but a certain fondness had come into her eyes, and I was sure that she loved her husband the sea captain dearly.

"Not so much aboard his ship," Wilde said, smiling.

"Ship like kitchen," Dorotka replied, "Must be run tight."

"Your shop looks as first rate as his ship," Wilde said, looking around approvingly, "Would you pass this along to the dear captain when next he arrives?"

He slid two crowns across the counter, and the otter hesitated, her fingers on the coins. "I give fish and chips. I insist."

"I do not mean to put you out," Wilde demurred.

"No trouble. I insist," she replied.

"A piece of cod, then, with chips," Wilde said, giving in with essentially no resistance, and she swept the coins into a pocket of her apron.

The otter set about her work, and I watched with a sort of morbid fascination as she first prepared and then fried the food, wrapping the greasy result in an old bit of newspaper before giving it over to my companion. She was taller than he was, and as she leaned over the counter to give him the bundle she caught sight of me for the first time. " _Królik_ eat fish?" the otter asked me uncertainly, "Chips, maybe?"

I could not imagine that she saw very many bunnies, either in her shop or her day-to-day activities, and I could understand her confusion. Under other circumstances, fried chipped potatoes might have been appetizing indeed, but the shop had only the single cauldron in which everything was fried, fish and potato alike. My stomach churned again at the idea of eating anything impregnated with the awful smell (and doubtlessly the taste) of fish. "I have already eaten," I said delicately, trying to avoid offense.

Wilde paused from his task of liberally applying malted vinegar to his food. "You are rather missing out," he said, "Does a chip not tempt you?"

I did not want to stay in the shop a moment longer, and shook my head. Dorotka gave us a peculiar glance as we walked out, and I wondered at what she thought of the odd pair my companion and I formed, particularly in the light of the tale Wilde had spun for her. The street on which the fish and chip shop stood was a side street, not well traveled, and there were no cabbies plying their trade as we exited the shop. A soft rain had begun to fall while we were inside; though Wilde was gentlemammal enough to share his umbrella with me, the rain made my bad leg ache abominably, and it was an awkward first few paces as he adjusted his naturally longer strides to my shorter and somewhat hobbled ones as we headed to the main road. "I am afraid I did not see the point of this errand any more than I did our trip to Weaselton's," I said as we walked, "Except to fill your stomach."

"Were you not chiding me earlier to-day about not eating?" Wilde asked, as he popped a chip into his mouth and chewed it with obvious relish, "I thought you would be happy to see me following your esteemed advice."

I scowled up at him, not appreciating the light nature with which he was seeming to take the crime he was supposedly tasked with solving. "So you've come away with more than just luncheon, have you?" I asked.

Wilde used his sharp teeth to tear off a piece of his fried fish, which was vanishing into his gullet at a remarkable rate, and chewed it thoughtfully and swallowed before replying. "Indeed I have," he said, "Once we are back to our flat, I expect I shall have everything I need to demonstrate my solution to Trunkaby."

"I hope you don't mind if we walk to our flat," he added, "It's no more than half a mile, and I must be saving my funds."

He had indeed spent money with a remarkable profligacy over the course of the case, and I wondered if he would walk away with any profit once the business was concluded; I knew not the fee he charged for his services. "I suppose I can manage, although I thought our next stop was to the police station," I said, "But whatever are you saving your funds for, if you do not mind my asking? An expansion to your laboratory, perhaps?"

Over the short period of time that I had known Wilde, the little laboratory he had set up in a corner of the sitting room had continuously grown, and as I recalled from my days as a student such top-notch equipment came quite dearly. "I expect we shall be able to head to the station straightaway, after I have the chance to put my notes in order," he said, "And as for my funds, I suppose it only fair to forewarn you. I am afraid I am rather outgrowing our set of rooms, and I have begun to search for single lodgings that would prove more suitable. A basement that I could equip to my needs, perhaps."

I stopped suddenly, quite surprised that Wilde was planning on moving out so shortly after we had moved in together, and I was caught by the rain for a moment before he stepped backwards and covered me with his umbrella again. "Have I caused you offense?" I asked, "I beg your pardon, if there is something I have done to make you feel unwelcome, for it is as much your home as mine."

I saw something that I could not identify run across Wilde's face—surprise, perhaps—before his usual collected mask reasserted itself. "Perish the thought, Dr. Hopps," he said, "You have always been quite open with me, and I cannot fault you for your nature any more than I would wish to be faulted for mine."

I had the feeling that there was some greater meaning behind his words that I could not grasp, but he continued, "I shall, of course, not move out until you have found a suitable replacement; I expect you will find it simple enough."

"I appreciate the consideration," I said, though my thoughts were in turmoil, the case entirely forgotten.

I had moved to the city with the expectation of leading a quiet retirement from the service, applying my hard-won skills to teaching the next generation of doctors. Never in my wildest dreams would I have expected to undertake such an adventure as the one I was currently on, and before it started I would have surely said that it would be most unwelcome. Now that it seemed I would get that quiet life I had imagined, I found myself wondering if it was really what I wanted after all. So caught up in my thoughts was I that I scarcely realized we had arrived at 221B Barker Street before Wilde halted. "Something is wrong," he said with a frown.

The street looked much as it ever did, a bustling hive of activity from mammals of all sizes, and it took me a moment to spot what Wilde evidently considered out of place. In front of the building our flat was in there was an enormous carriage, drably painted black with "Zootopia Police Dept." in white letters on the side. Eight horses, evidently the mammals who were employed at pulling it, were huddled in a circle near the fence, engaged in low conversation and smoking cigarettes. From the ash and cigarette ends at their feet, they had evidently been at it for some time. Further proof of this was provided by the dry spots where their umbrellas must have provided shielding from the rain; the rain had started sometime before we left the fish and chip shop and stopped shortly before we reached 221B Barker Street, which meant that they must have been waiting for half an hour at least. The horses did not seem to pay us any mind, and I followed Wilde as he cautiously made his way up the stairs.

Our suite of rooms was conveniently set up such that it had an exterior entrance and we did not have to go traipsing through the landlady's dwelling each time we wished to come or go, and it made it quickly obvious what the trouble was. The door was off its hinges on the floor inside the sitting room, the frame splintered from what must have been a series of incredible blows. Inside the sitting room were our old landlady and two mammals I recognized immediately; Inspector Trunkaby barely fit and was making the whole building shake as she paced, and Clawhauser was uncomfortably perched on a sofa quite a bit too small for him holding a teacup that was similarly dwarfed within his paw. Trunkaby quit her pacing as we entered and turned her attention to Wilde, but I was so shocked by what I saw that I almost didn't catch her words.

Our suite had been torn apart; the bookcases filled with Wilde's eccentric collection of references were on the floor, the books and a number of pages that must have come loose were themselves scattered hither and yon. In far greater disarray were Wilde's philosophical instruments, much of the delicate glass shattered against the floor. There was a stain on the wallpaper, which had little bits of glass embedded in it where I guessed that the intruder had thrown a vial, although I could not guess if it were out of spite or frustration. The drawers of my dresser had been ripped from it, and my clothes were in a disorganized lump on my bed, which had a great gash where the stuffing had been pulled out. Wilde's bed-room looked to be in about the same state, and a terrible feeling came over me. I could not quite put it in words, but anyone who has had the sanctity of their home defiled would surely know it; I was filled with outrage that such a thing had happened. I could not say if Wilde felt the same set of emotions, particularly in light of his announcement that he intended to leave in short order, but Trunkaby had given him no chance to collect himself if he did. "You've made a fool of me in front of the chief inspector," she cried, approaching Wilde with a furious glare.

"I should think you hardly needed any help with that," he retorted, "I suppose Waldheim confessed?"

The furious elephant jabbed him in the chest with her trunk, and Wilde took an involuntary step backwards as he regained his balance. "To grave robbery, as I expect you well know," she said, punctuating her words with further jabs that quickly had Wilde backed against a wall.

"Trunkaby," Clawhauser began, but the elephant turned her massive head to him and gave him a glare only somewhat more mild than the one with which she had fixed Wilde.

"Not another word, _constable_ ," she said, and the cheetah fell silent as she turned back to face Wilde, still pinned against the wall.

"To say nothing of the stunt you pulled in the bank," she seethed, and I was unsure of what she meant.

While it was true that Wilde had been somewhat rude to Mr. Lemming, he had only done so in response to the little mammal's own unkind remarks, and it hardly seemed to merit the anger Trunkaby was displaying. "I suppose you had something to do with this, too," she said, brandishing a newspaper at Wilde.

I could not see the headline from where I stood, and cautiously made made my around until I could. The paper was the afternoon edition of the _Times_ , and in lurid letters, the headline read, "Lemming Brothers Bank Robbed in Crime of the Century," under which it read in letters only somewhat smaller, "Two Tonnes of Gold Reported Missing."

On several occasions over the course of his investigation, Wilde had jumped to my defense, and it was only fitting that I returned the favor; I had ever despised bullies, no matter how large they were. "Wilde said nothing to any reporters," I said firmly, "And what stunt in the bank? What of our flat as well, was it you who tore it asunder?"

Trunkaby seemed to notice my presence for the first time, and pulled in her anger. "Hobbes, was it?" she asked, "This is no concern of yours; being dragged about crime scenes by a self-aggrandizing charlatan does not make you involved."

"Hopps, actually," Wilde said as he took advantage of Trunkaby's distraction to deftly slide past her and over to where I stood, "If you won't answer her, then answer her questions for me."

The two mammals stared each other down, their audience apparently completely ignored, and Trunkaby grudgingly answered. "This was not the work of the police," she said, gesturing around our ruined flat, "Constable Clawhauser answered a report from your landlady about a break in. While he was taking her statement, I arrived to take back possession of what you stole. Give up the key, Wilde."

At her words, I recalled that, after taking the key to the lock box from Garou, Wilde had not given it back, although since he had been hired to solve the case I thought it a bit much to call it theft. "We are sending the lock box to Goredian to determine how it was defeated, and they shall need the key to verify that they have it right after removing the lead from the lock," Trunkaby continued, somewhat more calmly.

Wilde had predicted that looking into the means by which the lock had been defeated would be Trunkaby's next move, and I saw that he was right. Wilde did not make any move to return the key, turning instead to Mrs. Armadillo. "Did a package arrive for me, while I was out?"

"Oh, yes," she replied, attempting to act as though she were not eagerly following every word of the little drama unfolding before her, "I hadn't dropped it off before all of this happened. I was out to market, you see, and that charming—"

"Enough," Trunkaby said, "Clawhauser, you can finish taking her statement somewhere else."

There was the full force of a command behind her words, and the cheetah and our landlady made their exit. "Give up the key, Wilde," Trunkaby repeated, "You're coming with me to apologize to Mr. Lemming and the chief inspector for delaying our investigation while you ran around with key evidence, or I swear we'll see if your attitude is improved any by four months of hard labor for interfering with police business."

In the course of the brief time I had known Wilde, his temperament had rarely deviated from cynical detachment and wry amusement at the goings-on around him, so I was not expecting what came next. "You're making a terrible mistake," he said.

His ears were flattened back and his eyes were narrowed, all traces of the delight that typically danced in his hooded look gone. His lip was curled back to reveal his teeth, and his hackles were raised with his tail rigidly back. Whether it was anger, frustration, or some combination of the two I could not say, but I had never seen his emotions laid so bare. "Is that a threat?" Trunkaby demanded, "I swear that I will fulfill mine if you don't give over the key."

She held out one massive paw, and Wilde pulled a chain from his neck and forcefully gave it over; I saw that he had been wearing the key in exactly the same fashion as Garou. "Will you listen to reason, now that you have it?" he asked, regaining some measure of his composure, "Time is of the very essence, and I shall have this solved forthwith if you will only allow me to inspect the package Mrs. Armadillo has for me."

"I doubt that very much," Trunkaby said firmly, "Only that you shall play me for a fool another time. Come along."

"Are you forgetting the business in Whitetailchapel already?" Wilde cried as she seized him by the arm and pulled him along, "Or Crowdon? I am attempting to help you!"

"You have a queer way of doing so," she said, dragging him out the door.

I hastened to follow, taking the stairs as quickly as I could, and caught up at the carriage only because Clawhauser had waylaid Trunkaby. Clawhauser had evidently heard his superior officer on her way down the stairs and rushed out with the package Mrs. Armadillo had held for Wilde, arguing in Wilde's favor to allow him to review its contents, and Wilde had joined him in begging. "Just give me the length of the carriage ride to review this material and demonstrate my solution to you," Wilde pleaded, "Dr. Hopps will be able to corroborate the details, and I shall willingly eat crow before the chief inspector and Mr. Lemming himself if I cannot convince you."

Trunkaby gave a great sigh, but her temper must have cooled somewhat, or perhaps she did not want to appear entirely unreasonable, for she acquiesced. "Get in," she called to me.

As I think back on the events as they happened, it occurred to me that they would have transpired quite differently had Wilde not been a gentlemammal and stayed outside the carriage until Clawhauser and Trunkaby were in. He gave me a boost to reach the first step into the carriage, which was a considerable height off the ground as it had been built to Trunkaby's scale, and waited until I was seated before leaping to the step himself. Wilde was about to enter the carriage himself when his eyes suddenly widened and he gave an undignified yowl of surprise as something seized him by the tail and pulled him bodily from the carriage's doorway. He desperately dug his claws into the thin fabric of the seats, but succeeded only in gouging a series of cuts through the cheap cloth and sending the stuffing flying through the cabin as he was pulled backwards. "Hopps!" he cried, even as I lunged after him, my finger tips barely missing his, "The gold was—"

He did not get to finish his sentence. A white handkerchief was clamped over his muzzle and cut off his words, and I caught a whiff of something sickly sweet before he was pulled entirely from the carriage. My first instinct had never been to shy away from danger, and I did not do so at that moment either. I leaped from the carriage to give pursuit, but without my cane made it only two-and-a-half steps before my bad leg gave way beneath me and I stumbled to the slick cobblestones on my knees. I caught a glimpse of Wilde's attacker as he fled, a massive moose who held the comparatively tiny fox in the crook of one enormous arm while keeping the handkerchief firmly held over Wilde's muzzle with the other. Although my companion lashed out wildly with all of his limbs, even his tail waving frenetically, it was of no avail; he could not connect with the moose and it likely would have done little enough if he could. The moose was putting distance between himself and the carriage at an incredible clip, sending the unfortunate mammals of the crowded street who did not move from his way scattering like skittles, the fox in his arms an apparently insignificant burden. Clawhauser, to his great credit, was only a moment behind me, and when I saw that he was moving to stop and check on me I waved him off. "Give pursuit!" I cried, pointing at the moose's receding back, "I shall be fine. Give pursuit!"

The cheetah obeyed my command, setting off after the moose, who had vanished from my sight as he turned a corner down a side street. Even as I watched the cheetah give chase, I had the sinking feeling in my chest that he would not succeed. While Clawhauser was likely faster than the moose who had kidnapped Wilde, or indeed any moose, his speed was greatest in a straight line. Since he did not have the sheer mass to part the crowded streets before him as his quarry had, his speed was reduced greatly as he wove through the throngs of mammals about their business and did not seem able to close the distance. Sure enough, after Trunkaby had pulled me back into the carriage and directed the team of horses that pulled it to follow after the moose, we entered the side street he had turned down to find it all but empty. Clawhauser was lying on the street, clutching at his wrist, and when Trunkaby and I alighted from the carriage to question him I could not tell if it was emotion or pain that made his eyes so wet. Seemingly automatically, perhaps just to give myself something to do, I pulled the small box of medical supplies from the carriage and tended to his arm in silence. My thoughts were a blur as he gave his report to Trunkaby. "I slipped as I turned the corner," he said, his ears drooping in shame, "I didn't see where they went."

It was hardly the cheetah's fault; the rain had made the cobblestones incredibly slick, and his blunt claws were surely unable to find any kind of purchase on stone. Still, in the moment, I could not keep my tongue in check. "You saw nothing?" I cried, manipulating his broken wrist more roughly than I ought to as I fashioned a sling, "Did he enter one of the buildings? Continue down the street?"

Clawhauser gave a low moan of pain and I let go as I realized what I was doing. "I can't say," he said miserably.

After I had finished my ministrations, Trunkaby pulled him to his feet with more care than I would have guessed the elephant to show. "Come along, constable. And you as well," she said, turning to me, her expression grave, "The chief inspector will want to hear of this at once."


	12. Chapter 12

When I had been twelve or thirteen years old, I had been entrusted with the care of several of my younger nieces and nephews for the annual Bunny Burrows Harvest Festival. I had not minded the task, as I was quite glad to give my older siblings a respite from the care of their kits, and spent the day shepherding my charges from one novelty to the next. I recalled most of the activities from my own kithood; the fried foods and games of skill and chance were much the same as ever, but of course my nieces and nephews saw them through fresh eyes. What had been new to me as well as them, however, was a tent advertising what it claimed to be, "The Incredible Zoetrope - Moving Pictures."

It had been my first encounter with a zoetrope, and I think that I was as fascinated as the kits with it, for what appeared to be little more than a drum set into a rapid rotation by a grim goat at a crank showed the most extraordinary sight when viewed from above. Despite having at least half-a-dozen or more mammals crowding around it, we all saw the image of a deer dancing ballet, going through the same graceful twirl and leap over and over again.

As I sat in the police carriage alongside Clawhauser and Trunkaby, the memory of Wilde's abduction ran through my head like that zoetrope image. I could not help but think of what I could have done differently, if only I had had the presence of mind. Even if I had remembered to grab my cane, I surely could not have caught up with the moose; my days of running were over, but had I not made the attempt to give chase myself, would Clawhauser have succeeded? Had the moment of hesitation that I caused in the cheetah as he wavered between checking on me and giving pursuit cost him his opportunity to catch the kidnapper? It was a bitter thought indeed, to think that Wilde might have been better served if I had taken no action, and I cursed my crippled leg. I had always been a mammal of action, and I will confess that my tendency to act before thinking had on more than one occasion gotten me into trouble that might have otherwise been avoided but I had borne those consequences alone. Worse yet, if his kidnapping was related to the bank robbery, as it seemed likely to be, it was my fault as well that Wilde had even become involved in the case; without my prodding he never would have taken it.

I was so engrossed in my own thoughts that I realized I had neglected to pay attention to Trunakby or Clawhauser only when I caught Clawhauser's sharp response to something the elephant had said, but not the remark itself.

"Wilde would not have done that," the cheetah said, firmly and quite a bit more loudly than was entirely appropriate.

The package that had been delivered at 221B Barker Street for my companion was open and on Trunakby's lap, but her focus was on the cheetah. "He is a fox, through and through," Trunkaby said.

"Whatever do you mean by that?" I interjected, lost as to where the conversation had started.

"We cannot ignore the possibility that Wilde arranged his so-called abduction himself; he may be in league with the bank robbers, or perhaps it is some other sticky business catching up to him now."

"He would not have done such a thing!" I cried with a vehemence that surprised even myself.

Trunkaby gave me a pitying look. "Do you know why he works as a detective?"

It occurred to me in that moment that I did not, and I admitted as much. "We have never spoken of it."

"Wilde cares not a whit for justice or the rule of law. To him, a crime is a puzzle to be solved, not a wrong to be righted."

The elephant spoke with considerable disdain, and I supposed that she found the very concept alien to her nature. "He has said as much, in so many words?" I asked, finding myself hoping that it was merely a conclusion she had reached on her own.

"Oh, yes," she responded viciously, seeming to take pleasure in the discomfort that her answer caused me, "I have seen him pass over attempting to solve a double murder in favor of a case of mail fraud simply because he found the latter more interesting. What sort of mammal does that, I ask?"

"He is a great detective," Clawhauser said defensively.

"He has some amount of cleverness, to be sure, but the rest is all parlor tricks," Trunkaby said dismissively with a wave of her trunk.

"And you," she added, looking me dead in the eye, "Can you say he was hard at work, solving this case? He did know the true nature of Waldheim's crime before he confessed, did he not?"

I opened and closed my mouth, unable to find words that fit. Considering her mood, it seemed unwise to tell her that Wilde had spent half of the morning and a part of the afternoon first buying a pocket watch and then getting a bite to eat. I knew the rationale he had given for the first errand, but he had never deigned to explain the purpose behind visiting the fish and chip shop. Trunkaby was entirely correct that Wilde had known that the little rat had been guilty of robbing graves, not banks, and that well ahead of the confession the elephant had extracted. Worse, Wilde had made no effort to correct Trunkaby's misconception, appearing quite content to allow her to waste time even as he frequently spoke of how time was of the essence. I found myself entertaining the notion that it was possible Wilde really had arranged events to his convenience. Was it perhaps more reasonable to assume that Wilde had known of Waldheim's crime and used it to delay the police investigation into the bank robbery rather than deducing it from little more than the rat's appearance and a few bits of gold? I had not known why Wilde had become a detective, and I realized that I knew precious little about my fellow-lodger. Every conversation we had ever had that came close to revealing anything about his past had been skillfully side-stepped, and after watching him at work I could not deny that the fox was an expert at the art of deception. Still, I had seen his reaction when Trunkaby refused to entertain his theories on the case, and I did not think that even a mammal so talented as he could show such emotion if he did not truly believe it.

I felt ashamed for suspecting Wilde of any kind of wrong-doing. He had his failings, to be sure, but what mammal does not? It did not make him a criminal, and I groped for something to say in his defense. "Surely the package he received is of value to the case," I finally managed.

"Are you so sure, then?" Trunkaby asked, "Look here and tell me what is meant by this, if you can."

She gave over the package that Wilde had received, and I quickly understood her frustration. Although I had witnessed much of Wilde's investigation, I could make neither heads nor tails of what was inside the sturdy paperboard box. The box had no return address or other markings to provide a clue as to its origin, but the contents looked as though items had been chosen at random from a library as eclectic as the one Wilde himself maintained in our flat. There was a copy of the _Annals of the New Yak Academy of Sciences_ dated two years previously, a battered book of maritime law, a slim volume on mortgage loans, copies of the minutes from the annual shareholder's meetings for Lemming Brothers Bank going back a decade, and other assorted odds and ends that meant nothing to me. I supposed that of all the items, the shareholder's meeting minutes would be the most likely to be of value, but perusing the first I found nothing of interest, simply the dry language of a board of directors going through the procedural motions. " _I_ cannot," I admitted, "But you gave Wilde no chance to explain it himself."

The elephant gave an exasperated sigh. "I fully intended to give him a chance on this carriage ride," she said, her voice prickly, "You cannot hold me accountable for him never making it inside."

At her words, Clawhauser's defeated posture became even more despondent, which I would not have guessed possible. "It was my failing," he said glumly, "No moose should have ever been able to outrun me."

I had been so distracted by my own sense of responsibility that I had not realized that I was not the only one feeling guilt. "You are not to blame," I said firmly, "You did all you could."

The cheetah did not appear to believe my words, but the carriage came to a halt before I could offer further words of encouragement. We were at the Lemming Brothers Bank, but it looked quite a bit different from when last I had visited it. We had been forced to stop a good ways from the building itself, for there was an untidy crowd of mammals gathered around the bank. A queue of mammals stretched through the main door of the bank under the watchful eyes of wolves I assumed to belong to the bank's own security force, for they wore unremarkable suits in much the same manner as Mr. Lemming's personal servant Mr. Garou, and uniformed police officers. There were more police carriages and officers around the borders of the crowd, which had been demarcated with temporary barricades. The crowd itself was composed of a dizzying array of mammals, and while they seemed orderly enough there was an undercurrent of tension that filled the air. I recalled the newspaper which Trunkaby had shown Wilde; it seemed only natural to assume that the crowd was composed of depositors who had also seen it and were in a hurry to withdraw their money while the bank was still solvent.

Trunkaby located the chief inspector quickly enough near one of the other carriages. "Chief Inspector Bogo," she said, "I have the key."

The chief inspector was a tall buffalo of early middle-age, so powerfully built that his uniform seemed barely able to contain his musculature. Despite his physique, I did not think it would do to underestimate his intelligence; he wore a pair of half-moon spectacles, behind which were eyes that seemed as though they missed little. His resting expression had the same sternness I had seen on many of my former commanding officers in the military, and when he spoke, his tone was even and mild. "At the moment, Inspector, I cannot say that I care. Where is Wilde?"

Although Trunkaby was significantly larger than the buffalo, she seemed visibly cowed by his words. "A moose grabbed him as he was getting into the carriage," she said.

"He was abducted," I cut in firmly, not wanting to give Trunakby the chance to voice her theory that Wilde had been behind it, "Kidnapped, by a moose dressed in the clothes of a laborer. I did not see his face, but I would guess his age at between thirty-five and forty."

The chief inspector removed his spectacles and looked down at me. It was quite the distance for him; he was perhaps three times my height. "Judith Hopps," Clawhauser introduced me helpfully, gesturing with the one arm not in a sling, "She's Wilde's flatmate."

The chief inspector raised an eyebrow at that, but he did not comment on it. "Ms. Hopps—" he began.

"Dr. Hopps," I interjected.

I had historically viewed with some measure of disdain those doctors who insisted upon being referred to by their title, as it was to me more a mark of insecurity than anything else, but I would grasp at whatever straw I had if it would help the chief inspector take me seriously. "Dr. Hopps, did you witness this yourself?" he asked, and his voice remained gentle.

"I did," I said, "Wilde was on the verge of explaining his solution."

Chief Inspector Bogo turned to Trunkaby. "Is this true?" he asked, and his voice had a firmness it had not held when he spoke to me.

Trunkaby fidgeted with her enormous paws. "He claimed as such," she said defensively, "But it is very peculiar, you must admit, the timing of events."

The buffalo nodded slowly, and I suspected that the elephant had formed and already shared her theory before arriving to collect Wilde. It would go a long ways towards explaining why she had been so furious with him at our flat if she had already suspected him of being involved. "What of your arm, constable?" he asked, turning his attention to Clawhauser.

The cheetah nearly dropped the package my landlady had given over to him, surprised that his superior officer had addressed him. "I slipped, giving pursuit to the moose," he said, and while I suspected that he was doing his best to control his emotions it was plainly visible that his failure was the only thing that pained him more than having to report it.

"Unfortunate," the buffalo said, and there was a wealth of meaning in that single word that the cheetah seemed to catch.

"I need every mammal I can get," Bogo said, "Even the horses who pulled your carriage, should they be willing. Mr. Lemming has not made this a simple affair to manage."

He gave a brooding look towards the bank, then turned back to face Trunkaby. "I shall need you here," he said, "The key can wait; Mr. Lemming already had the lock box shipped back to the company that made it."

We all paused at something that I could practically detect in the air. The crowd had been slowly growing louder as we spoke, and a booming voice from near the bank's main door carried to us. "We will not be able to honor any more requests for withdrawals," the voice said, and even as the crowd grew louder still, the speaker continued, "Please disperse."

"Damn the fool!" Bogo swore.

Indeed, the crowd had begun to move chaotically, and another voice called up from near the bank. I was able to see the speaker, for he had a wide berth between him and the rest of the crowd and he was quite possibly the largest bear that I had ever seen, absolutely towering over those mammals around him. His powerful voice was filled with raw anger. "What of us predators, then? We've been forced to yield to prey behind us!"

The crowd seemed inflamed by his words, and I realized what the chief inspector had meant when he had said that Mr. Lemming was not managing the depositors well, if it was true that he had forced predators to yield their position in the queue to prey behind them. "As well you should!" another voice jeered, and that seemed to be the spark that turned the crowd into a riot.

I did not see who struck the first blow, security guards and police officers or members of the crowd, but there were suddenly cobblestones flying through the air and mammals striking at each other. The police officers began to blow on their whistles shrilly as they waded into the fray. "Get Dr. Hopps out of here," Bogo said to Clawhauser, "Get to precinct one as quickly as you can and start requesting every officer the other precincts can spare."

Clawhauser nodded and took me by the arm, the paperboard box wedged in the crook of his. "I really am sorry, Dr. Hopps," Bogo said, loudly to be heard over the rioting mammals but with surprising gentleness, "Wilde will have to wait. Now go!"

With that the buffalo fearlessly walked into the crowd himself, even as some panicked mammals threw themselves against the carriages and barricades that defined their border. Clawhauser pulled me along at a clip so rapid that my feet scarcely seemed to touch the ground for several blocks until we came to a cab and he directed it to precinct one.

We sat in the back in silence; I was sure that the cheetah was as preoccupied with his thoughts as I was with mine. I had never seen a riot before, but with no distractions my mind turned again to Wilde's abduction and the look the fox had worn as his surprise and pain at his tail being pulled had turned into realization as to what it meant. I saw again my own paws, reaching for his but failing to so much as touch his fingers. I remembered nothing of the cab ride, only coming out of my dismal reverie when the cab came to a stop in front of the police station. "Dr. Hopps?" Clawhauser said tentatively, before getting out of the cab, "Why don't you take this?"

He gave me the paperboard box I had briefly perused on the carriage ride to the bank. "Wilde must have had a reason for choosing you as a... a partner," he said, "If you figure anything out, I'll do my best to help."

I could have objected. I should have, but there was a warm lump in my throat that forbade me to speak. Clawhauser had entirely the wrong idea, I think, about my relationship with Wilde. Had Wilde chosen to room with me for any particular reason beyond the fact that I would make him more palatable to our landlady, he had never expressed as much. Shortly before his abduction, he had even told me straight out that he meant to dissolve even that little connection that existed between us. Still, it meant more to me than I could say that at least one other mammal was concerned about Wilde's fate. "I—" I began at last, and realized that my eyes were welling up, "Thank you."

I said it with all the sincerity that I could muster, even as I wondered what Wilde would think of my show of emotion. Perhaps it was just as well that he was not there, but I would have given much to have him present and back on the case, no matter what his frequently barbed tongue would have made of me. Clawhauser gave me a gentle squeeze with his good arm, nodding. "Good luck," he said.

"The same to you," I replied, and watched him walk into the station, his back straight.

The cabbie turned to me. "Where to now?" the old gray mare asked.

"221B Barker Street, as quick as you please," I said firmly as I daubed at my eyes with my handkerchief, and we set off.

In the back of the cab, I started to go through the box again and steeled my resolve. If the police did not have the mammals to find Wilde, then I would do it myself.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I thought having notes at the end of the last chapter would kind of change its impact, so I'm including all of the notes that I would have included in chapter 11 with this chapter instead. I'm usually pretty wordy in these, so this one going to be particularly long. I've always tried to write the chapters so that these notes provide some additional flavor and context for events rather than being required reading to understand the story, so feel free to skip the incoming wall of text, which is so long I couldn't add it as an end of chapter note!

Fish and chip shops were first documented in London in 1860, and rapidly exploded in popularity, and would have been quite common by 1881. Granted, considering the make up of Zootopia there would probably not be as many, considering the relatively small number of residents who could eat meat. On the other hand, when the three basic options for animal-based protein are fish, insects, and poultry, fried fish could be popular enough. Early fish and chip shops only served food only to go, typically wrapped in newspaper, and would use the cooking method described of frying the food in a cauldron. At the time, however, beef tallow would be used to fry the fish and potatoes, which obviously would not fit the setting. Canola oil or sunflower seed oil would be the likely candidates in this story, since other vegetable oils are made from tropical or subtropical plants that wouldn't be quite as readily available. Malt vinegar was, and still is, a common seasoning for fish and chips. I've never been to England to have proper fish and chips, but in my opinion malt vinegar is pretty good on french fries.

Rabbits can eat meat, but it's in much the same way as a human being able to eat chalk; it's possible to eat it, but not possible to survive on it. Dr. Hopps being disgusted by the smell of cooked fish isn't unreasonable, but her bias is definitely showing when she can't quite grasp how others might find it appetizing. Additionally, as far as rabbits go, the word "królik" is Polish for "rabbit;" similarly Dorotka and Aleš are Slavic names.

Moose are faster than you might expect them to be, with a top speed of about 30 MPH (about 48 KPH). While this does fall far short of a cheetah's top speed of about 75 MPH (about 120 KPH), a cheetah cannot maneuver very well at that speed and cannot maintain it very long.

Anesthetics did start coming into widespread use in the 19th century; diethyl ether and chloroform were both used from about 1840, and both have a characteristic sweet smell. For a human, it takes several minutes of inhalation to be rendered unconscious, during which the victim may be disoriented but still capable of fighting back, as detective Wilde was described to do. As seen in the movie from his police application, Nick weighs 80 pounds (36.3 kilograms), which is significantly less than most human adults, and is also a fox; considering that he was being held by a moose, the poor guy didn't have a chance. 19th century anesthetics may be even more dangerous to him then they were to people. Both ether and chloroform require continuous dosage to maintain unconsciousness, and particularly for chloroform can easily result in accidentally administering a fatal dose. For this reason (as well as being carcinogenic), chloroform is no longer used as an anesthetic. While ether is a bit easier to safely dose, it has a number of undesirable side effects and is explosive, hence why it isn't used any more.

The zoetrope was an early form of animation that was invented in 1865, and is basically the 19th century equivalent of a GIF in that it loops a short series of frame continuously without sound. The original zoetrope used pictures in a drum, but the principle will also work with 3D models; Pixar has a really cool _Toy Story_ zoetrope at the Disney California Adventure made with 3D models, inspired by a similar one for _My Neighbor Totoro_ that Studio Ghibli made for the Ghibli Museum. If I ever go to Japan, that's on my shortlist of places to visit.

Animation technology made rapid advances in the 19th century; the zoetrope was succeeded by the praxinoscope in 1877, which in turn was succeeded by the zoopraxiscope in 1879, which in turn was succeeded by the kinetoscope in 1889. All of these would have been pretty common to see at carnivals and fairs throughout the late 19th century, particularly as side show amusements. While the phénakisticope, invented around 1833, predated the zoetrope significantly, it could only practically be used by one person at a time, and it wouldn't be unusual for someone from the countryside to have never seen one in the 1860s. Incidentally, the date that the zoetrope was invented also means that Dr. Hopps is around 29 years old; considering that she is a doctor I think it makes sense that she would be a bit older than she is in the movie, although that does mean her active military service was very short.

Police ranks come up a bit in both chapter 11 and 12; I've been using the same system as the London Metropolitan Police, where the lowest rank is constable, followed by sergeant, then inspector, then chief inspector. There are a number of ranks above chief inspector; this does mean that Bogo is of a nominally lower rank in this story than he is in the movie, as he would probably be a chief superintendent under the commonwealth rank scheme if I had kept it roughly equal. On the other hand, it does make his personal involvement somewhat more justifiable.

As a bit of my world building, the horses who pull the police carriage are not also police officers any more than a squad car would be an officer in our world. While they serve an essential police function, they're contract workers for the specific job of moving a police carriage, which may be slightly more dangerous than pulling a cab but at least pays better. This is why Bogo wants them to volunteer rather than being able to just order them. Now, this isn't to say that a horse couldn't be a police officer in the Victorian version of Zootopia, but they'd probably have to deal with getting confused for a carriage puller a lot.

In the late 19th century governments did not insure bank deposits against loss, which meant that bad news for a bank could lead to the depositors demanding their money out of fear that the bank would fail and they would lose everything. However, since banks invest a good portion of the money that they take as deposits, they cannot possibly pay out to every depositor if a significant fraction of them demand their money at the same time. The end result of this is that a run on a bank could very well lead to its failure. Of course, refusing to honor requests from depositors for their money is also unlikely to keep their business. For a bank run to turn into a riot was not unheard of, and the poor management of events by Mr. Lemming only made things worse.


	13. Chapter 13

My second attempt at making sense of the material Wilde had claimed would allow him to solve the case went no better than the first. As the carriage made its way to Barker Street, I flipped through the books frenetically, looking for anything that would provide a clue—an underlined passage, a bookmark, anything that would tell me what was important—and came up empty pawed. The carriage came to a stop, but I was not ready to give up so easily, or at all; my conscience would not let me rest until I found my flatmate. Still, I could scarcely continue my work from the back of the cab, and I reluctantly placed everything back into the box and made my way up the stairs to our flat.

My stomach twisted into a knot again to see my belongings, and those of Wilde, strewn about. The door was still on the floor; our landlady certainly did not have the strength to move it, and I doubted that I would be able to set it right on my own either. Without a front door, the flat had a noticeable chill, the cool October air having invaded the sitting room. I placed the box on the table and went to stoke the fire to give myself a little warmth when I noticed something peculiar.

The clutch that Wilde had given me as part of my disguise only that morning was on the floor near the hearth, and next to it was the handkerchief, the silver calling card case, and the little beaded purse that had been inside of it. Also scattered about, however, were the coins that had been inside of the purse, which struck me as queer indeed. All told, the coins inside the purse had added up to nearly a dozen guineas, which I could not imagine a thief to purposefully leave behind. I frowned, trying to divine what it meant, and wished dearly that Wilde had been there, wondering what he would have done in my place. Doubtlessly, he would say something particularly clever, having deduced the identity of the thief to the most minute detail from something I had not even noticed, but I did not have his talent for spotting imperceptible patterns. I sighed, looking down at the coins, when a memory rose, entirely unbidden, of what the fox had said when first he demonstrated his methods to me. In the process of explaining how he had deduced that I was a farmer turned soldier, recently returned from the middle east, he had explained that he relied on the synthesis of many facts, not on any singular clue.

I had been particularly impressed at the time, but it occurred to me that it was not so different from what a doctor did in the course of diagnosing a patient. It was true that as a former sawbones it had most often been plainly obvious what infirmity my patients in the field suffered from; it did not take a particularly skilled doctor to diagnose a gunshot wound. However, to be able to triage patients and to be capable of performing life-saving surgery at a moment's notice with next to nothing in the way of preparation did demand what I supposed was a skill not too dissimilar from Wilde's.

I looked down at the coins again, and suddenly realized what they meant. The flat had been ransacked by a mammal looking for something, something relatively small since they had bothered to turn out the beaded purse as well as the clutch. That the coins had been left behind told me that they had been in a great hurry, for I could not imagine any thief to otherwise leave behind such an unexpected bonus. Moreover, the mammal who had broken down the door must have been very large indeed; I could hardly budge the door from the floor, but it looked as though only one or two blows had been necessary to knock it from its hinges. The moose who had abducted Wilde seemed an obvious culprit; perhaps he had simply lurked about, waiting for Wilde's return, after his search failed. The moose certainly would have had motive to kidnap Wilde if he had not found what he had been looking for, and he was undoubtedly big enough to defeat the door.

My heart all but burst from my chest in excitement as I realized something further. Could the moose have been the "big" friend that Weaselton had alluded to? The weasel had all but threatened Wilde, and not even two hours later the fox had been abducted. It did not seem likely to me that the events were unrelated, and I practically stumbled from the flat in my haste, barely able to maintain my balance even with the aid of my cane. When I reached the doorway, however, I paused. If my theory was correct, Wilde had been kidnapped because his abductor had been unable to find in the flat that which he had been searching for. I did not want to imagine the lengths that his abductor would go to in order to obtain what he wanted, and I forced from my mind the thoughts of what Wilde might be suffering as I delayed. It was an undeniable fact, however, that the fox had a peculiar sense of organization; he seemed loathe to order his belongings anything like what a normal mammal would consider sensible. On the other side of the hearth I saw that the coal-scuttle had been knocked over, and the resulting mess on the floor included a number of cigars amid the coals. If Wilde had endeavored to hide something within the flat, it did not seem likely that a desultory search would uncover it, and I was forced to consider the possibility that the villain responsible would return, particularly if he could force Wilde to tell him what he wanted.

Perhaps the paperboard box that I had set on the table contained what was sought after; every single book in our flat had been knocked to the floor and some showed ample evidence of rough handling with cracked spines and torn pages. Although the box's contents meant nothing to me, I could not risk leaving them behind where they could be stolen.

I had ever respected the sanctity of Wilde's bed-room, as it would have been quite inappropriate for me to disturb the fox in what he doubtlessly considered his den, but I told myself that I had good reason for doing so as I entered. I recalled that, on some of the occasions upon which I had seen him coming or going, he carried a fine satchel of fish leather with him, and I thought that it would be perfectly suited for my current needs if I could find it.

My first impression of Wilde's room came from a scent that made my nose twitch as I entered. Overpowering the odor of stale tobacco smoke was something musky and vaguely unpleasant with a peculiar floral undertone that I could only describe as smelling like a fox, which I suppose was to be entirely expected. When I had first viewed the set of rooms with Wilde, the only furniture in each bed-room had been a small bed with a nightstand that matched and a dresser that did not. Both rooms had been set up in an identical fashion, and I had idly observed to myself at the time that while the beds were quite perfectly sized for a bunny, they were entirely too small for a fox. Wilde had evidently resolved the issue of the furniture by the simple expedient of removing all of it and replacing it with his own, although with an eccentric style that should not have surprised me.

He did not have a bed at all; there was a pile of blankets and pillows in one corner of the room that must have served his needs. I could not tell how they had originally been arranged, since the pillows had all been cut open and covered the floor with a layer of goose down, but it seemed to me as though he had not devoted much space of the room to rest. A mismatched set of bookcases, one of which had been toppled, filled most of the floor space, and while the books he had kept in the sitting room were eclectic, the contents of the references in his room were somehow even more so. While the intruder had clearly gone through the material, there did not seem to be anything of any value whatsoever. Wilde had newspapers, both domestic and international, going back more than a decade, scientific papers across a range of studies from calculus to geology, books on art history, betting slips from races that had occurred years ago, and other items that looked more worthless yet. Wilde did not seem to own a dresser, and I could not guess why he had rid his room of the one that it had come with else to free up more space, but all of his clothing was apparently held in a trio of scratched and scuffed portmanteaus. Their contents, a bizarre assortment of garments from ones that looked fit for the meanest beggar to Wilde's typical tweed to ones that a lord could wear with pride, and even a few dresses besides, were spilled across the floor. In contrast to the battered bookcases and portmanteaus was a finely made desk of the Baroque style with a matching chair, both of which looked perfectly sized for the fox.

Wilde's desk was a rolltop model with an ostentatious amount of delicately carved whirls and gilded inlays, but the lock of the cover had been smashed with such force that there was a great dent in the wood of the writing surface. All the clever little compartments and drawers had been turned out, revealing everything from a cracked conch shell to an iridescent feather in addition to the expected letters and papers, as well as a thick black-bound volume with no title. I recalled that I had seen Wilde poring over the book immediately before we had departed on my errand to Goredian's shop, and I could not help but stop my search for the satchel to examine the book.

The reason for the book's lack of a title and somewhat shabby condition was obvious as soon as I opened it. The book was apparently some sort of personal journal of the fox; the entry on the first page had been dated, in his unmistakable script, Friday, 13 September, 1867. Wilde had never directly told me his age, but I would guess that he had been around eighteen when he made the entry. Although the ink had faded to a rusty brown over the intervening years, and the pages of the book were somewhat yellowed, the words were perfectly legible. Beneath the date were the words, "Necklace, silver pendant on silver chain." There was also a small sketch in pencil, the lines smeared almost too much to make out what appeared to be a rough floor plan of a lecture hall, and beneath that was a list of thirty-six names, all but one of which had been crossed out. Each name had a number next to it that corresponded to one entered on his sketch, and some of the names had cryptic notes in some kind of shorthand entered next to them. As I flipped through the rest of the pages in the book I surmised that it was Wilde's working book of every case he had ever solved. Some of the pages had clippings from newspapers or books pasted in, some had strange little diagrams or tables, and a few had a little "M" in red ink in the upper right corner of the page, but I scarcely paid the other cases any mind as I turned to the very last page that Wilde had written on, realizing what the book could mean.

I actually had to turn back several pages, as Wilde had already devoted five pages to the current case, but there was no mistaking it. The page was neatly dated Tuesday, 11 October, 1881, and had the words "Two tonnes gold," under the date. Wilde had also pasted in two lists of names that had obviously come from a typewriter, one of them labeled "Night Security Guards, Lemming Brothers Bank, Zootopia Branch" and the other "Board of Directors, Lemming Brothers Bank." Every single name on the former list had been crossed out, and I guessed from the surnames that they had been the wolves who had so viciously injured Wilde. On the latter list, however, of the twelve names listed, only seven had been crossed out. Of the remaining five, the first name caught my attention immediately, for it was none other than Hubert Lemming, the bank president and the very same mammal who had reported the theft to the police. I could not help but recall that Chief Inspector Bogo had said that Lemming had sent the lock box to Goredian to determine how it was defeated. Had the little lemming had Wilde kidnapped to ensure that the key could not also make it the bull, or else simply because he thought the fox was getting too close to a solution that implicated him? From the damage to all of the books in our residence, it could have been a page that the would-be thief had been looking for; a page certainly could have been folded up and hidden somewhere among the many books and other papers.

I looked up from the book, suddenly no longer sure of my course of action. I thought that there was good cause to suspect either Lemming or Weaselton in the matter of Wilde's kidnapping, but I did not think that I could afford to waste time. I was by no means a professional detective, and it was Wilde who would pay the price if my guess was wrong. My hesitation did him no favors either, and I looked around the room, despairing at my options, wishing desperately that I could be in two places at once. My eye caught the strap of the satchel, mostly hidden under a pile of classified advertisements from 1874, and I pulled the object of my search free even as I continued to mull the problem over. The satchel had been emptied, likely in the same manner as the clutch, and I made my decision. I would first stop at Weaselton's shop, but I would review Wilde's notes and compare them against the contents of the package on the cab ride. I could always have the cab turn around if necessary, but Weaselton seemed the more likely of the pair of mammals that had caught my interest to slip away if I tarried too long. I grabbed the journal off Wilde's desk and placed it in the satchel, then moved as quickly as I could to the sitting room and added the paperboard box. After a moment's hesitation, I replaced everything that had been in the clutch and added it the satchel; I did not think that Wilde would object too strenuously if I spent his money in the course of finding him. The satchel had swallowed everything quite neatly, the dull brown fish leather not even straining at the contents. It was a bit over-sized for me, but light enough to manage. With that preparation made, I pulled my pistol from the front pocket of my jacket and eyed it carefully.

When I had come across Wilde in our flat disguised as a disreputable coyote, I had drawn my service revolver on him, but the simple truth of the matter was that it had been a bluff. While I had carried the Elkfield with me ever since arriving in Zootopia, I had always done so with the pistol in one pocket and the bullets in another, as I had never thought I would actually have occasion to use it. Besides, it had seemed to me dangerously irresponsible to carry it loaded, a thought that had only been further driven home by my realization as to what I could have done to Wilde by accident. After Wilde's abduction, however, I could not help but think that, if only I had kept my pistol loaded, I could have perhaps stopped Wilde's abductor even though I could not chase him down.

I grimly loaded five bullets into the cylinder and snapped it shut, putting the pistol into my jacket pocket. My father would likely have been disappointed by my intended course of action, as he had given me the bullets for self-defense, not so that I could go running into danger. Still, both he and my mother knew that it was not in my nature to sit idly by and allow wrongs to go un-righted, and if Weaselton was not above ordering a kidnapping there was no telling what he would do upon being confronted. As I made my way down the stairs to Barker Street to hail a cab, I made myself a vow: Heaven itself could not help Weaselton if he was responsible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I get on to my notes for this chapter, I want to thank you, the reader. This week saw this story hit the milestone of 100 followers over on FanFiction.net, which is just incredible! I really can't express what it means to me, as an author, to have your support. I want to thank everyone who has read this story, and especially everyone who has left a comment, kudos, or has bookmarked it. I really appreciate knowing what people think about my story, whether it's positive or negative, and I want to extend a special thanks to the people who have repeatedly commented: AeroQC, Anistuffs, Archangel12575 (kirkmcgill), Cimar of Turalis WildeHopps, Das ErisedDesire, DeadDireWolf, DrBry, DrummerMax64, ebolson, Erinnyes, Fox in the hen house, fragolette, GSirius, kaligos, L. , Matri, niraD, Omnitrix 12, QsiM0t0, raynos, stevegallacci, and TortillaOverlord.
> 
> For this chapter itself, I do have a few comments. Dr. Hopps's realization of the similarities between solving crimes and diagnosing patients is a little nod to Dr. Joseph Bell, the real life inspiration for Sherlock Holmes in the original works by Arthur Conan Doyle. Dr. Bell, like Sherlock, had an incredible talent for reading people, which he used to emphasis the importance of careful observation in the formation of a diagnosis. As in chapter 1, Dr. Hopps refers to herself as a sawbones, which has historically been used as a slang term for a surgeon, a field of medicine that many other doctors looked down upon. However, as a 19th century military doctor, she would have earned a medical doctorate prior to training as a surgeon, and would have passed an exhaustive exam covering a wide range of medical specialties, so she's being somewhat modest.
> 
> A coal scuttle is basically a small bucket for holding coal, useful for fireplaces. It's a weird place to keep cigars, but Sherlock Holmes is described as doing so in the Musgrave Ritual. Although Sherlock is usually imagined with the iconic pipe, in the original stories he does smoke tobacco in pipes, cigars, and cigarettes.
> 
> 1881 is a bit too early for synthetic fabrics; although early synthetics were developed in the late 19th century, it wasn't until 1905 that the first commercial products made out of synthetic fabric (rayon, under the trade name Viscose) were sold. Since everything therefore needs to be made out of a natural material, fish leather seemed appropriate for a good quality bag. It is a real material, and since the residents of Zootopia would likely consider cow leather as horrifying as we would consider human leather, there aren't many other options for reasonably priced animal skin materials.
> 
> In real life, foxes, and particularly male foxes, don't smell very good. I've had the chance once to get close to a fox, and while he was a beautiful animal his enclosure smelled awful (the comparison to a skunk's smell mixed with violets is pretty apt), and that was with regular cleaning. Granted, Wilde wouldn't be marking his room with urine, but even with a regular grooming schedule to keep his own odor down it'd be difficult to keep his room from picking up the scent simply from him touching stuff, as foxes have scent glands in their paws.
> 
> From Dr. Hopps's estimate of Wilde's age in 1867, Wilde is 32 in 1881, having been born in 1849. This actually makes him older than Sherlock Holmes; since the Last Bow, set in 1914, describes him as being 60, he must have been born in 1854. September 13, 1867 was indeed a Friday; I am keeping careful track of the chronology. Incidentally, as stated in chapter 3, and as shown in this chapter, the action of this story started on the night of October 11, 1881, which was a Tuesday. As of this chapter, the date is Wednesday, October 12.
> 
> Wilde's journal of cases was in fact mentioned in chapter 6, although Dr. Hopps obviously did not know what it was at that time, and Wilde requested the two lists of names back in chapter 4.
> 
> Dr. Hopps's service revolver, first mentioned in chapter 2, is an Elkfield, a pun on the Enfield Mk I, a six-chamber revolver which she must have gotten shortly before her discharge. 1881 is too long ago for an officer to have been issued a Webley, although that pistol did rapidly supersede the Enfield after it was introduced, as the Enfield had some design flaws. Specifically, they were notoriously difficult to reload and somewhat prone to jamming, especially as they aged and the parts wore. As the Enfield Mk I did not have any mechanism to prevent the firing pin from engaging if the gun was struck, only loading five rounds to keep the chamber under the hammer empty is a good safety precaution, particularly if you're going to carry it in a pocket.
> 
> As the various references to previous chapters in this set of notes show, all of the various threads are coming together now and the end isn't too far off. Thanks again for reading this far!


	14. Chapter 14

I found it difficult to concentrate on Wilde's journal as the hansom made its way to the very same intersection which Wilde and I visited not even three hours ago, though it felt far longer. It was not simply a matter of my worry and sense of responsibility, though those burdened me down to an extent I cannot adequately describe; it was the ride itself. I had offered the horse pulling the cab a guinea if he could get me to my destination in less than a quarter hour, and he was enthusiastically working himself into a lather setting such a rapid pace that all of the many irregularities in the cobbles of the road sent harsh vibrations through the cab.

Nonetheless, though the words shook before my eyes, I began to take a clearer picture of some of Wilde's motivation. I believed that I understood why he had chosen to stop at Dorotka Lutrinaski's fish and chip shop, for among the various clippings that were part of the journal was the bill of lading for the _Darling Dorotka_ , the cargo ship which her husband captained. The manifest included an array of items, all neatly identified in some careful clerk's perfectly legible script, and Wilde had circled a pawful of them. It was obvious to me why he had circled the line item for the lock box of gold, but I could not guess why other items had caught his interest, which included a crate of mining supplies, part of a shipment destined for the national armory, a load of fine marble, and copper cookware. Also included were rather crude and somewhat blurry cyanotypes of the deed to the _Darling Dorotka_ and its mortgage paperwork, showing that Captain Lutrinaski made his payments to Lemming Brothers Bank itself.

I frowned as I looked up from the journal and out the window, where the buildings were going past at a truly remarkable speed. It seemed logical to conclude, from the information that I had, that Wilde had suspected that Aleš Lutrinaski might have been responsible for the theft of the gold. Certainly if he owed a great deal of money to the bank for his ship's mortgage, he might be inclined to steal from them. Had our visit to the captain's wife allayed or confirmed that suspicion? I cast my mind back to the fish and chip shop, trying to remember anything that might have been relevant to tip Wilde's mind one way or the other. As I recalled, Dorotka had intimated that Aleš was already back out at sea, which I supposed meant that it was unlikely that he could be behind Wilde's kidnapping. I was struck again, however, by the unfortunate thought that Wilde's kidnapping might be totally unrelated to the missing gold, in which case my actions would be ultimately futile. I did not believe for a minute Trunkaby's theory that my flatmate could be involved in the theft, but I would admit that it seemed all too possible that there could be some other nasty business in the fox's past that had caught up to him. I knew not his history with Weaselton, but it was obvious from observing the two mammals together that the weasel, at least, had some cause, real or imagined, to bear the fox ill will.

I shook my head and returned to my consultation of the journal. It would not do to leap at every possibility, and thereby accomplish nothing; I could very well be wrong in suspecting Weaselton, but if nothing else I had to read through Wilde's assembled notes first. Returning my focus to the relevant pages, I noted that following the information concerning Captain Lutrinaski's ship were a variety of other notes that must surely be related to the _Darling Dorotka_ , including a crew manifest and a list of its last ports of call. As expected, I saw that it had arrived in Zootopia on Monday, the tenth of October; it appeared that the ship had spent at least the previous six months simply traveling between Zootopia and Furis. As both cities were major seaports, it made sense enough to me that such a consistent route could be an adequate source of income.

There was also, tucked in between the pages of the case in the journal, a scrap of blotting paper that had a number of notes in Wilde's careful writing, which appeared to my eye to be calculations of some sort. There were no words to give the numbers context, however, and I turned the scrap over to see a neatly drawn table of rows and columns. I caught a whiff of something unpleasantly astringent; in between the borders of the table Wilde had evidently placed droplets of some chemicals unknown to me, which had stained the paper in a variety of shades of red and gray. Like the other side of the scrap, however, there was nothing to indicate what the table meant, and I wondered if Wilde had simply taken for a bookmark something entirely unrelated to the case. Certainly my search of his room had uncovered a surprising volume of utterly worthless media, and it did not seem completely implausible that Wilde had re-purposed a useless bit of waste from some other case.

The remaining pages in the journal devoted to the case showed that it was not only the key that Wilde had taken from the crime scene. He had one of the shipping labels that had been on the remains of the crate that the lock box had been in and a sliver of wood from the same. Otherwise, the only other material in the journal on the pages related to the case were the names of five different secure courier services and their associated addresses. My knowledge of the city was not sufficient to determine where in the city the couriers were with any degree of certitude, but I thought that they were all within the same general location, near the harbor where it would be logical for such companies to place themselves within access of their major source of freight from ships.

Having reached the end of the pages, I tried to puzzle together what everything meant in aggregate. Wilde had claimed, shortly after our visit to Weaselton, that he believed that he had narrowed down the possibilities of how the crime had been committed to a mere three options, but I could not for the life of me guess what they were. Perhaps Wilde had the critical instinct to be able to hunt down mysteries in the way his ancestors would have stalked prey, but I felt woefully out of my depth and a rather stupid bunny besides, that I could not figure it out even with Wilde's notes. Still, I thought that I had divined the purpose of at least a part of the contents of the paperboard box; surely both the book on mortgage loans and the book of maritime law must be related to the _Darling Dorotka_ and Captain Lutrinaski. Once again, I came to the question as to why my companion had gone to the fish and chip shop. I did not know whether the books would confirm the sea otter's guilt or rule him out entirely, and I found myself anxious for the cab ride to end and allow me to question Weaselton so that I could at least reduce the avenues of investigation before me.

I did not have long to wait, as the horse pulling the hansom had narrowly made the time limit I had imposed for the reward of a guinea above and beyond the fare owed. He collapsed against the street, great sheets of perspiration staining his shirt and pants, his muzzle white with froth. "I cannot explain how much you may have helped," I said gratefully, pulling forth the coins I owed, "But could I trouble you to wait for me here? There's another guinea in it for you, should you be able to get me back to Barker Street so quickly as you got me here once I have completed my errand."

The horse wiped away the foam from his muzzle with a grimy handkerchief before accepting the coins gratefully. "Certainly, ma'am, certainly, so long as you're not too quick about your errand. I could do with a bit of a rest, you understand," he said, his great barrel of a chest heaving.

I nodded. In truth, I did not know where I would next need to go, but it seemed prudent to have a hansom held for me so that I would not need to waste any time once my business with the weasel was concluded. I hurried down the twisting route of Mustelid Street as fast as my bad leg would allow, paying no mind to the filthy puddles or refuse that littered the street. When I reached the alleyway at which Wilde had previously stopped, I stopped myself, realizing that I had completely forgotten about the arrangement that the fox had made. The little ferret kit selling matchsticks was still in her alley, and I hoped that she might have something of value to tell me. She had been most shy with Wilde, it was true, but he was a fox and I was a bunny; certainly I was the far less threatening of the pair of us, both with the fox and the ferret. Though I was taller than the kit at present, I thought it likely she would be at least my height upon becoming an adult.

"Pardon me," I called, "Molly, was it?"

The ferret looked up at me and nodded tentatively. "Do you remember me?" I asked gently, "I came this way with Nicholas Wilde, not three hours ago."

She nodded again, but had made no motion to stand, apparently content to sit on the filthy cobbles of the alley. I slowly brought myself into a crouch to bring us to eye level, stabilizing myself with my cane as I did so. "He said you would keep an eye on Weaselton for him," I said, "Has he had any visitors? A moose, perhaps?"

Molly eyed me warily, but did not speak. "Please," I said, "Please, Wilde needs my help, and I need yours. He was abducted by a moose and I must know if Weaselton was responsible."

The little kit's eyes widened in surprise, and her paws flew into a flurry of motion that meant nothing to me. As she did so, my vantage point of being eye level with the ferret afforded me a view that I had not caught in the gloom of the alleyway when first we met. Molly was wearing a rough scarf, but it wasn't quite wide enough to completely hide a twisted and bald patch of scar tissue on her neck, which in conjunction with her rapid sign language made me realize that the ferret was mute, not shy.

The ferret's paw signs came to a halt, and she looked at me expectantly. I wondered if it was another of Wilde's talents, to be able to understand sign language, but it was not one that I shared. "I don't understand," I confessed, "Has Weaselton had any visitors?"

Molly held up three fingers. I nodded. "Was one of them a moose?"

She shook her head, then held up two fingers before standing and launching into a bit of pantomime. She snarled noiselessly, her lip pulled back from her teeth. She raised her tiny paws, her fingers curled, the delicate little claws towards me. She wrapped her paws around her torso and shivered, and then looked down at me in the eye, apparently waiting for me to guess. While I struggled to catch her meaning, she held up one finger, then acted out another little bit of theater. This time, she held out one paw, and gestured around it with the other, as though she were holding something a few inches around. She then reached around and grabbed hold of her tail, then gestured with the other a significant length beyond its end. Once more, she looked me in the eye, apparently waiting.

I could have attempted to divine her meaning, but I was still in a great hurry and supposed that it did not matter overmuch who the mammals had been, so long as they was not a moose among them. Even if I understood her perfectly, all it told me was that Weaselton could not have directly instructed the moose, but it did not rule out one of the three mammals being an intermediary. I nodded slowly. "Weaselton has not left his shop, has he?"

Molly shook her head. "These three mammals, are they still in the shop?" I asked, my urgency giving my voice a desperate tone that the ferret must have well understood, for when she shook her head again she did so with such vigor that her entire little body moved.

I pushed myself to standing fully upright again with my cane and pulled a half-crown from the beaded purse, but before I offered it to Molly I was struck by an idea. I had earlier bemoaned my inability to be in multiple places at once, but I saw that the solution stood before me in the form of a grubby little ferret. Wilde had apparently made great use of Zootopia's street urchins, and I realized that I could do the same, should they let me. I dropped the half-crown back into the purse and scooped out a guinea's worth of coins and held them before me. "Molly, could you gather your fellows and meet me at the flat on Barker Street?"

The ferret froze, eyeing the coins distrustfully, and I wondered if she thought I was playing some kind of cruel joke on her. She had seen me in the company of Wilde before, but I supposed she had little enough reason to trust me. I could not guess the source of the injury to her throat that rendered her mute, but I did not think it much of a stretch to imagine that life as an urchin had not been particularly kind to the little kit. Wilde had been gentle enough with her, and I hoped that she did have some measure of trust in the fox. "Please, Molly," I implored, my voice thick with emotion, "It is my fault that Mr. Wilde is in this mess, and I cannot rest until I pull him from it."

I hoped again that I was on the right course of action, and not ruining the result of the errand Wilde had set Molly upon. I swallowed my doubts and kept the coins out. The little ferret reached for them slowly, as though expecting me to pull it back before she could take it. When at last her fingers closed around the little pile, I felt the gentle scrape of her claws against my palm as she quickly withdrew the coins and made them vanish into a pocket of her dress. She smiled up at me, then held up her fingers and flashed them in rapid sequence. I had no trouble understanding her meaning on this occasion; clearly she meant to be at the flat within twenty-five minutes, and I nodded my approval. Before setting off, she gave me a significant look, then turned her neck and looked at the door to Weaselton's pawnshop before looking back at me. She raised two fingers on her paw and pointed them first at her eyes, then grasped one of her ears and pulled on it. Again I caught her meaning; I had every intent of being careful indeed inside Weaselton's shop. My right paw dropped to the pocket of my jacket and I felt the reassuring weight of my service revolver before I gave the ferret my answer. "I will be most careful while having words with Mr. Weaselton," I said grimly, and Molly scampered off to her task as I made my way to door of the pawnshop.

I took a great breath, but my heart and paws were steady. It was similar to the feeling I had gotten before the battle that had ended my career as an army surgeon; it was not fear that ran through my veins, but anticipation, the knowledge that my skills would soon be needed and it was my duty to perform to the best of my ability. My vision and hearing seemed preternaturally sharp, and in that moment I felt totally aware of everything around me. It was not a feeling of invincibility; my war injury would certainly have disabused me of any such notion had common sense not done so long ago. Rather, it was the sense that success or failure rest entirely on my shoulders, and I knew, to the depths of my heart, that I was prepared. I boldly opened the door and walked in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've ever wondered why blueprints are blue, the cyanotype process is the reason why. The cyanotype process was invented in 1842 and uses specially prepared paper to make a copy where the dark sections of the original appear white and the light sections appear blue. For documents, such as architectural drawings, the sheet to be copied is placed over photosensitive paper and exposed to UV light, historically from the sun. The ink on the original blocks the photosensitive solution on the copy paper from being exposed to light, while sections without ink do not block it and turn blue. For an overcast day, 20 minutes would typically do it, and then the cyanotype could be developed and the photosensitive solution that did not react to light could be washed away.
> 
> The cyanotype process was a great help to architects, particularly in the late 19th and early 20th century when buildings were becoming increasingly complex, because it allowed the accurate reproduction of complicated line drawings, albeit as a negative image of white lines on a blue background. The process requires a translucent original to work; for architectural drawings, which were typically made on high quality cartridge paper, it was necessary to first copy the image onto tracing paper. However, documents printed on vellum, such as important financial and legal documents, are translucent enough for the process to work.
> 
> In the world of Victorian Zootopia, I doubt that they would ever have used real vellum, which is made from animal hide, since it would make anything printed on it as creepy as the Necronomicon to them. Instead, they would use paper with a high cotton content, which is what most papers referred to as vellum are in the present.
> 
> That's a lot of words to say that yes, in 1881 it was possible to make a copy of a page. People in the Victorian era even had the ability to transmit signatures by telegraph in a crude predecessor to modern faxes; the scanning telephotograph was invented in 1881 and its successor, the teleautograph in 1888, quickly became widely used by banks, hospitals, and train yards to transmit critical signatures and messages that were accurate reproductions of a handwritten original. Incidentally, the "fax" part of a fax machine is short for facsimile, meaning a copy that is true to the original source. A cyanotype isn't a true facsimile because it is at best an inverted color copy, though it can accurately reproduce the lines of the original.
> 
> There's a lot more detail in this chapter about Wilde's notes; I'll refrain from commenting on them any further to avoid potential spoilers. It is true, though, that Wilde did say he had the crime down to three possibilities for how it occurred in chapter 10.
> 
> Horses really are one of the few mammals, other than humans, that sweat as a primary means of cooling off, and they can also make a frothy saliva as the result of exertion.
> 
> English sign language has existed for hundreds of years, and British Sign Language began to become significantly more standardized in the 19th century. Interestingly, both then and now, American Sign Language and British Sign Language are far more different than the spoken English language of both countries. Dr. Hopps's complete lack of understanding of sign language is a little reference to the movie where Judy can't understand Nick's nonverbal instructions for dealing with the asylum guards; in the Victorian setting I imagine consulting detective Wilde is perfectly capable of communicating in sign language.


	15. Chapter 15

When I entered the shop Weaselton was cleaning a magnificent decanter made of cut glass, but when the bell above the door announced my presence he nearly dropped it, so rapidly did his attention go to me. "The nursemaid, was it?" he said, and his tone was rough without any of his affected accent, "Lost your patient, did you?"

His laugh was jagged and there seemed to me an unnatural edge to it; it was not merely a false laugh, but the laugh of a mammal dangerously near the end of his wits when reason would be abandoned altogether. I wondered at what conversation could have shaken him so, and regretted not asking Molly how long ago Weaselton had taken his visitors. If he could still be so perturbed, hours later, it would suggest a most serious state of events indeed. I did not have the time to wallow in questions of what I could have done, and pushed the thought aside. "A most interesting choice of words," I said, ignoring his jibe at my profession and focusing on the important part of his words as I approached the counter, "For it is Wilde that I am looking for. You know where he is, do you not?"

"In a ditch, I hope," came his response, "Now leave."

My jaw tightened, but I forced myself to stop before acting rashly. Weaselton had given precisely the wrong answer to my question, but he had not claimed to know where Wilde was; certainly some of his antipathy towards the fox could have been transferred to me and he was simply being rude. For his sake, I hoped that he was merely attempting to get me to let him be. Weaselton returned to polishing the decanter, but when a moment had passed and I made neither made any motion to leave nor spoken again, he reached under his counter.

Weaselton came up with a shillelagh, the heavy end of which he hit against one open paw as he came around the counter. "Those ears of yours work, cottontail? Get on, then," he said, "Or I'll make your legs a matching set."

I was, to be perfectly honest, rather relieved at his choice of weapon. When Wilde and I had visited earlier, it had not been lost upon me that the weasel kept something concealed under his counter, and I had considered a shotgun as the absolute worst case. A shillelagh, however, was an entirely different matter, so long as I kept my distance, and I calmly drew my service revolver from my pocket and leveled it. "I am not leaving without answers," I said.

Weaselton stood a moment frozen before seeming to regain his composure. "You haven't got it in you," he sneered, "A rabbit hasn't the instincts to kill."

I stood my ground. "You're quite right," I said, not allowing my revolver to waver.

Weaselton's laugh sounded almost genuine, and I saw some of the tension leaving his shoulders. When he spoke again, he had regained his posh and oily manner of speaking. "You're not much at this business of dealing threats, are you?" he asked, "Leave now and my friends won't hear of this."

"You don't understand," I replied, "I won't shoot to kill, lest you make me act in self-defense, but that does not mean I'll leave unsatisfied."

Weaselton put down his shillelagh on the counter and leaned back against the counter. I supposed that he was trying to show me that he did not feel threatened, but I took a bit of pleasure to see that he did not allow his fingers to stray too far from his weapon. If he did not take my words seriously, that would be to his misfortune, not mine; if the fool thought to underestimate me simply because I was a bunny, I would gladly allow him to compound his mistakes. "Yes, it does," he said dismissively.

"Do you know how I'm different from the police and criminals you normally deal with?" I asked.

Weaselton started to make what I assumed would be a token protest that he was an honest businessmammal. "Don't insult my intelligence or waste my time," I cut him off firmly, "The difference is that, to them, you are a resource for many crimes. To me, your only value is your answer to a single question, and I care not a whit for what happens after this."

I was rewarded with the sight of the dawning realization upon Weaselton's face that I was entirely serious, and he did not interrupt again.

"I am a doctor, not a nurse, and I am an excellent shot. I can shoot to cripple and make sure you survive the wound to know the misery of a bad limb as I do."

As I spoke, I lifted my cane and gestured at my own crippled leg. I gave him a moment to consider my words, and then advanced the chamber of my revolver to put a live round under the hammer. The small click seemed to fill the room. "So I ask again: where is Wilde?"

Weaselton's eyes went wide. "I don't know," he cried, his previous defiance completely lost, "I don't know, you must believe me, I don't know."

The weasel collapsed to the floor, sniveling, and I was unsure of what to do next. I had not been lying when I said that I had no intent of killing him, but though my threat to cripple had been intimidating indeed I could not follow through on it. Even should I wish to carry it out, mammalian bodies were fragile indeed compared to bullets; I could no more guarantee that he would survive a shot than I could guarantee that a tossed guinea would land on its head. "Your visitors, then, what business did they have?" I asked.

The miserable weasel appeared confused at my question. "However did you—" he began, but when he saw that my revolver was still pointing at him, he cut his own question short.

"They were looking for Wilde," he said hastily, "Warned me off, they did, but I haven't heard so much as a rumor, I swear it."

In his haste to get the words out, I was not sure I had understood his meaning, and I asked, "What was it that they warned you off?"

Weaselton looked up at me, cringing. "Passing word about Wilde along to anyone but Mister—the boss himself, I mean, should I hear it. Which I haven't, to be sure. The boss has a score to settle, that one."

I frowned as I thought through what it meant, and Weaselton offered me a weak chuckle, apparently eager to fill the silence. "Whoever took Wilde is a dead mammal," he said, "Have no doubt of that."

"That does me little enough good, should Wilde himself be dead," I said, but I broke my revolver open and spun the cylinder until the empty chamber was once again under the hammer before putting it back in my pocket.

It was not a thought that I wished to dwell on, that Wilde's abductor really could have already killed him, but I thought that Weaselton was being honest enough. Certainly I thought he would reconsider before dismissing a bunny out of paw again, but I had not learned much from the errand. I could suppose that Weaselton's testimony implied that it truly was the mammal behind the theft of the gold who had abducted Wilde, rather than some other criminal, but that struck me as being of little help. I was, I confess, quite interested in what kind of score a mammal who could only be some sort of gang boss had with Wilde, but I did not have the time to waste poking at irrelevant details. "If I do not find Wilde, you really ought to reconsider your pledge of silence," I said, by way of a farewell, "Our next conversation shall be rather less pleasant, should you have kept something from me."

Although Weaselton did not speak, I saw that he understood where we stood quite well enough.

* * *

After I left Weaselton's shop, I made my way back to the intersection where my cab waited. my thoughts in turmoil. Although I tried to make my way through the other items that had been inside the paperboard box, my confrontation with the loathsome pawnbroker had left me quite unable to concentrate. Indeed, though I made a valiant effort to peruse the copy of the _Annals of the New Yak Academy of Sciences_ , it was about the driest reading I had encountered outside of medical journals. My eyes kept losing their place in a densely written article on the amalgamation of ores as my thoughts continued to drift back to my encounter with the weasel. I was consumed with doubt, wondering if I had not pressed the weasel firmly enough and he had kept something from me. When I realized that I had read the same sentence three times without any comprehension in an article arguing that the author had demonstrated the existence of a fourth monobromphenol, and saw that the following article was a study of the lingual dentition of mollusks, I closed the journal. The horse pulling the hansom was making excellent time once again, and I thought on my next move as I watched out the window.

When the cab arrived at Barker Street, I thought that I had perhaps misunderstood young Molly's hand signals after all. Although I had taken her to mean that it would take her twenty-five minutes to assemble the urchins, I saw that she could have just as easily meant that she would have a group of that size. Indeed, outside the fence to my building was a motley assortment of no less than twenty-five young mammals, the oldest of which could not have been more than ten. They were similar only in the manner of their dress, which was uniformly the cast-offs of society, dirty and tattered. Sill, Wilde apparently thought quite highly of their skill, and considering that I thought it likely that the police were otherwise engaged with a bank riot, they would have to do. When I alighted from the carriage, the little crowd appeared to pay it little mind, talking among themselves in little cliques of three or four. Before I could call for their attention, a shrill whistle pierced the air, so loud and high-pitched that I nearly clapped my paws over my ears. The urchins and I alike turned to the source of the whistle, which was none other than Molly. Although I would guess her to be totally incapable of forming words, considering the grievous scar on her throat, she was apparently quite the expert at whistling, which she did with both paws in her mouth. Having caught the crowd's attention, she pointed me ought, and nearly in unison the young mammals turned and faced me, suddenly silent.

I had not anticipated nearly so large a crowd, but it was all the better for my purposes. "I understand Mr. Wilde has, from time to time, employed you at tasks," I began.

An affirmative murmur ran through the crowd. "He has—" I started, but I was suddenly cut off.

"Molly told us," a tiger cub spoke up, his arms crossed defiantly across his little chest.

Although he was likely one of the oldest urchins present, he still had the build of a youth. All the same, he looked at me, bold as brass. "What's the prize for finding Wilde, long ears?"

I could not say that I appreciated his tone or his words, but Molly had been clever enough to figure out the purpose for which I wanted the orphans and communicated it to them. I had no intention of wasting time to reiterate that which they already knew, so I replied, "A halfpenny for each of you, and a guinea to anyone who finds him."

The murmur that ran through the crowd after that was quite a bit louder than before, but when the tiger spoke up again, they all fell silent. He had turned to Molly, and asked "She good for her word, then?"

The ferret nodded vigorously, which was apparently all the assurance that they needed. With the exception of Molly herself and the tiger, all the urchins were off like shots, scattering in every direction. Once the others were off, and it was down to the two predators, myself, and my poor cab driver, who had once again taken his ease on the street, the tiger stalked towards me. I thought that my initial assessment of his age was likely correct, but even as a cub of ten he was already quite a bit taller than I was, to say nothing of the anxious ferret following in his wake. "Finn will hear of it, rabbit, if you don't keep your word," he said simply, and then he was also off before I could respond.

Molly looked quite relieved that the little ringleader had been civil enough, and I was grateful that she had cared enough to stay back. Before she could follow after the others, I called after her. "I could use your assistance for another errand," I said.

"And yours as well," I added, turning to the horse who had pulled my cab.

The horse had gotten back to his hooves, and looked down his long muzzle at me. "About the most peculiar bit of business I've ever been on," he said, "But if you still have the coin, I'm still your mammal."

Molly, of course, could not give me any kind of verbal response, but she nodded, smiling with apparent great enthusiasm. "Our next stop will be to the Rain-Forest District," I said, "To the Goredian company."

The horse waved a hoof dismissively. "I know every street in the city, ma'am," he said simply, "We can set off straight away; once in the District it's entirely downhill, so I've had quite enough of a rest."

"You can wait a few minutes more," I said, although I was quite pleased with his response, "I must change first."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing I find interesting in the original movie is that Judy is willing to let Duke Weaselton be threatened with death in the form of being iced to get information out of him. While she's not doing it directly, what I've wondered is how far she would have let it go. Would she have let Mr. Big have him killed if he hadn't spilled his guts? I think the answer is no, myself. In this story, the threat to Weaselton is a bit more direct, but I don't think that it's out of character, especially considering that I have altered the characters somewhat. Still, as always, I appreciate any feedback.
> 
> A fourth monobromphenol is my (extremely) little joke; monobromphenol is an out-of-date term for what we now call a singly nitrated phenol. To the best understanding of modern chemistry, there are only three mono-nitrophenols, but obviously modern chemists have much more powerful tools to work with than did 19th century chemists. While I personally find old chemistry articles quite interesting, and the work of 19th century chemist incredible considering what they had to work with, that would probably be incredibly boring to read. Likewise, the other articles Hopps mentioned skimming are not exactly riveting, unless they're in your wheelhouse.


	16. Chapter 16

Although the intruder to our flat had taken no great pains to avoid damaging our property—for many items, such as Wilde's books and chemical apparatuses, it appeared quite the opposite—the awful orange dress that my flatmate had prepared for me as a disguise was entirely intact. I changed into it as quickly as possible, as I was pinning my hopes on Goredian promptly taking action to analyse the lock box and determine the method employed by the thieves to open it. Wilde's notes had not, so far as I could ascertain, spoken at all of how molten lead might have taken effect; perhaps it had been so incredibly obvious to the fox that he simply hadn't thought it necessary to write down. Or perhaps, I mused as I did up what seemed like an endless array of fussy little buttons, he had been able to come to no conclusion on his own. He had, after all, cautioned me of the perils of rushing to judgment without all the necessary facts, and it was my great desire that Goredian would be able to provide more of those for me.

In relatively short order I was back at the street level, once again in the constrictive day dress with its ridiculous feathered hat. I had switched my cane for the umbrella, as before, but retained Wilde's fish leather satchel and all of its contents; there was still material that I had not given more than a cursory look, and I meant not to waste the opportunity the ride to the Rain-Forest District would provide. As I walked to where the horse pulling the hansom and Molly awaited, I was rewarded with a look of surprise from the both of them. Molly, of course, could not vocalize any sort of critique of my dress, but I believed from her wide-eyed look that the other urchins would learn of it from her paw signals as soon as they were reunited. The horse, for his part, recovered quickly and tipped his cap respectfully. "Ready to go then, ma'am?" he asked.

I nodded, and gratefully took the hoof he offered to boost me up into the cab. "The Goredian Lock and Safe Company," I reminded him, "As fast as you can."

Once Molly had scampered up into the hansom herself and taken the seat opposite me, the horse shut the door and gave us fair warning. "Hold on," he said, "The devil himself couldn't get you there faster."

I would be hard-pressed to disagree with his boast, as it seemed he was pulling the cab even faster than he had on the previous occasions. I had pulled out the paperboard box and was going through the remaining contents with great difficulty. The words of the annual shareholder's meeting minutes from Lemming Brothers Bank danced and shook with the ride, but I did my best to scan the pages for any sort of meaning that would give me a clue as to who might be responsible for the theft of the gold. Wilde had thought these important enough to get from whatever source he employed, and I was sure that there had to be something I could divine from the minutes. Wilde had obtained the minutes from the past ten years, and I started with the oldest minutes, from 1871. Although I could not call the minutes engaging, they were at least far more readable than the dense technical articles in the copy of the _Annals of the New Yak Academy of Sciences_. What quickly became clear to me was that, ten years ago, Hubert Lemming had not been the president of the Zootopia branch of the bank. He had served as a junior vice president, but even the detached style of the minutes made it clear that he had been a rising star in the bank, attaining his current position in 1876. The ends to which he directed the bank's investments seemed to come up winners, and large ones at that; the lemming had brokered a deal which saw the bank taking a two hundred and thirty per cent return on their investment. The other branches of the bank were all run by mammals I guessed to be Hubert Lemming's family members from their shared surname, but they did not seem to have anything like Hubert Lemming's degree of financial shrewdness. Victor Lemming, as head of the Furis branch, for example, had presided over yearly losses from 1875 until 1879. Although the minutes were written blandly enough, I supposed that he had been given the choice of resigning or being fired, considering that it had been his poor decision to over-leverage the bank's shares in a failing mine that caused the worst of the losses.

Following Victor's replacement by Adam Lemming, who I assumed to be yet another of the Lemming brothers, the highest-ranking members of the Furis branch had been split among the others. Hubert Lemming's current senior vice president and a number of his junior executives had all come from the Furis branch, and he had in turn lost a number of the mammals who had been his executives to repopulate that branch. I eagerly flipped through the more recent minutes, sure that Victor Lemming seemed like the perfect candidate to have masterminded the theft. It did not seem unreasonable to assume that he would have cause to nurse a grudge against his far more successful family member; considering the run on the bank and the ensuing riot I had seen with my own eyes, it would have been a masterful bit of revenge. When I reached the minutes for 1880, however, I slumped down in my seat, bitterly disappointed. The board of directors had spoken a few words in remembrance of Victor Lemming, who had perished of cholera. A mammal who had been dead nearly a year could not, after all, mastermind anything, and I looked back into the box, desperate for anything else I might have overlooked. There were a few staged photographs of the massive Lemming family, the associated names written on the back. I could not help but note that, in every photograph in which Hubert Lemming appeared, his wolf servant Mr. Garou did as well, even if it was only as a disembodied paw holding his boss, the rest of the massive wolf out of the frame. By the dates, the photographs went back at least to 1866; clearly the arrangement between the lemming and the wolf was a long-standing one indeed.

As I thought on the relationship between the odd pair, wondering if the wolf would have either the means or motive to betray his employer, I noticed the air in the hansom suddenly becoming much warmer and more humid, the windows rapidly fogging up. That could only mean that we had arrived in the Rain-Forest District, and I looked up at the urchin across from me, wondering how she would tolerate the heat. She, at least, had seemed to enjoy the carriage ride; she had spent most of it with her nose pressed up against one of the windows, watching the scenery blur past. Indeed, when the horse had taken a corner at such speed that the wheel on one side of the hansom left the ground, she had clapped with delight and made a peculiar chuffing wheeze that must have been as close to a laugh as her scarred throat could produce.

"Can you stand the air?" I asked, even as I pawed miserably at my own collar, which was once more becoming stifling.

Molly had been wiping at one of the windows with a grimy handkerchief in a futile attempt to keep her view clear, but at my words she turned to me and nodded, seeming unperturbed. Perhaps it was a welcome respite for her compared to where I assumed she spent most of her time. I did not know if she sold matches at other intersections or worked other jobs, but she seemed perfectly willing to accompany me. I thought on her motives for a bit before I realized, from the increasing smoothness of the ride, that the carriage was slowing down, and wondered if the horse's strength had at last flagged.

When the carriage came to a complete stop, I could not see anything outside the hansom, as the windows were all still fogged from the humidity of the Rain-Forest District. I opened the window in the door and leaned out, peering forwards. The reason for the halt was immediately obvious; the entire wide thoroughfare that wound its way down the canyon in which the Rain-Forest District had been built was completely impassable due to a throng of mammals. It seemed too well-ordered to be a riot of the sort I had seen begin at the bank, but I could not see where their attention was directed. "Can you not get around?" I called forward to the horse.

He had let go of the hansom and stood by its door, shaking his head. "Not a chance," he said, "There are side streets, to be sure, but not ones I could take this hansom down."

I looked at the mass of mammals despairingly. I had not come so far to be defeated so easily. "How much further to Goredian's?" I asked.

I recalled that it had been about three-quarters of the way down the canyon, but there was quite a bit of difference between traveling in a cab and traveling by foot. "Another mile, mile-and-a-half at most," he said.

The little ferret across from me tilted her head briefly in thought, and then nodded her agreement with the horse. I impatiently pulled a pawful of coins from the purse and thrust them into the horse's hooves without bothering to count them, though from the look he gave I suspected that I had rather overpaid, even considering the bonus promised. "We shall walk the rest, then. Come along, Molly."

The ferret jumped from the hansom and landed lightly on her feet, waiting with apparent impatience as I made my way out far more gingerly. I pushed through the throngs of mammals with far greater difficulty than did my young companion; Molly quickly and nimbly darted her way through the legs of mammals far larger than she, vanishing from view far faster than I would have thought possible. It was the sort of agility I had once possessed, but in my present state it was a struggle to force my way through, though I could at least see what all the fuss was about. Someone, evidently with a flair for the dramatic, had positioned a large, flat cart so that the Ratenbach Falls, on the far side of the canyon, framed it spectacularly. The cart was piled up with a great pyramid of glass bottles, at least twelve feet high, which ranged in size from being nearly so large as I was at the base to ones at the top so minuscule that I doubt the contents would have filled my mother's thimble. All of them, though, were filled with something a sickly red color and had a label plastered across the front advertising them as "Prof. R.K. Zalver's Universal Elixir" in great bold letters, under which was the dubious promise "A Cure for All Ills."

Atop the cart, a hedgehog was holding forth in a great booming voice over the murmuring of the crowd he had evidently attracted. The hedgehog, who I assumed to be the so-called Professor Zalver, was dressed richly, an embroidered waistcoat and golden watch chain struggling to reach across his enormous stomach. A little pair of pince-nez were perched atop his snout, I supposed to give him an air of learning. He had evidently provided a bit of his elixir to another mammal upon his impromptu stage, a little bison calf who could have been no older than Molly, who supported himself with a crude wooden crutch. "You won't need that now, my lad!" the professor called out, and knocked the crutch away with a little walking stick of his own.

The crowd gave a great gasp, but the calf did not fall. "I can walk!" he cried, as he did exactly that, moving from one side of the cart to the other, "I can walk!"

A great shaggy bison that could only be the calf's mother rushed from the audience and enveloped him in a great hug, pulling him from the cart as though he weighed nothing. "Oh, bless you, Professor Zalver," she sobbed, though I could not help but noticing that her eyes were completely dry, "Bless you."

The professor gave a modest little bow, then pulled forth one of the bottles that was about six or eight inches tall. "Four and six for a bottle of this size," the professor called out to the eager crowd, some of which was pushing its way forward, "Continuous use for a month will make my elixir's healing effects entirely permanent!"

Even had I not been a doctor, I knew well enough to be wary of hawkers of patent medicines; when I had been a kit my uncle Charles had caught his arm in a thresher, which had nearly ripped it from his body. Though Dr. Coney the elder had amputated the arm with what I would later recognize as quite a bit of skill, the wound had pained my uncle greatly, and he had taken to using a medicine from a traveling merchant. Even the loss of his arm had not diminished him so much as whatever had been in that little bottle; by the time he could be convinced to stop he was a husk of his former self, his nerves so damaged he could not even care for himself.

The hedgehog and his accomplices were the lowest sort of mammal, to prey on the fears and desires for health of those too ignorant to recognize them as frauds. Indeed, I was easily the best-dressed mammal in the entire crowd except for Zalver himself; most of the rest were probably barely able to afford a tenement, and their clothes were frayed and well-patched. Had I the time to stop, I would have denounced Zalver as a fraud, but I hoped that, once the riot at the bank had passed, there would be police enough to put a stop to his chicanery. I continued to force my way through the crowd, ignoring the hedgehog's assistants who were milling around with crates of the elixir, until a jackal not nearly so well-dressed as his master reached out and grabbed my right paw with his, pulling me into a firm shake. "What a shame, milady, a shame indeed, to see one such as yourself so injured."

I did not deign to respond, and kept walking, managing my balance with the umbrella in my left paw, and the jackal continued his pitch, his grasp of my paw tightening a measure. "They say that money cannot buy everything, a sorry state of affairs I am sure you know, but it can buy health, milady, it can indeed," he said rapidly.

He brandished the bottle in his left paw at me. "Only two shillings for you, milady, an absolute bargain. Would you not pay a mere two shillings to walk without pain again?" the jackal asked, not loosening his grip upon my paw a whit, even as he continued walking with me towards the edge of the crowd.

"If your nostrum is worth tuppence, it's only for the glass in the bottle," I said shortly, "Let me be on my way."

The jackal's nostrils flared, and his grip upon my paw tightened further, to the point that I could feel the delicate little bones begin grinding together. "I think you could afford far more than tuppence, _milady_ ," he said, giving the honorific a mocking little tone, "More than two shillings in that bag, I expect."

His eyes darted over my shoulder and he gave a nod, and I realized what he had done. As he maintained his grip upon my paw and I had continued walking, he had maneuvered me behind the legs of an elephant, where we would pass quite unnoticed by the rest of the crowd. I realized that he meant to rob me, but I could not say that I feared him though he towered nearly a foot-and-a-half over me. I had ever been the smallest officer in the army, and while I could make no claims as to being the greatest fighter to ever serve, I was not entirely inexperienced at dealing with mammals larger than me. I saw something approaching my shoulder where the strap of the satchel rested in my peripheral vision, and raised the umbrella in my free paw with as much force as I could muster.

My long illness had robbed me of much of my strength, but my aim was as good as ever, and I could hear a cry of pain even as I felt the shock of my umbrella striking home at the underside of the jaw of the jackal's accomplice, another jackal so alike as to look like his twin. Before I could turn my attention to the jackal who had set up the attempt at robbery, he suddenly gave up his vice-like grip upon my paw even as he dropped the bottle of patent medicine he had held in the other. A small brown-furred paw shot out from behind the jackal and caught it, and I saw that it was Molly; with her other paw she had pulled viciously on the tail of the jackal. While both assailants were recovering, the little ferret grabbed me by the paw and pulled, navigating us around the mammals at the periphery of the crowd until we were clear. I doubted that the jackals would follow, not when there were still such easy pickings in the crowd; most likely they had simply gotten greedy at the thought of what riches a well-to-do lady might carry with her.

I motioned to Molly to give me a moment to recover my breath, as she had pulled me along at so great a pace that I could scarcely keep my balance, and my bad leg trembled from the exertion. "Thank you, Molly," I said, and I was in fact extraordinarily grateful at the mammal I had chosen to accompany me on my errand.

I did not know what Wilde had done, to earn such fierce loyalty from the ferret that she would be so devoted to me, but she was earning every farthing of her payment. While I recovered, the ferret was examining the bottle of Zalver's elixir she had caught. I did not know if she could read, but surely she had seen at least some of the demonstration the hedgehog had put on. Apparently coming to some decision, she uncorked it and went to drink from it, but I snatched it from her paw. "You can't drink this," I said, quite a bit more sharply than I intended, and she moved back a step at my tone.

I sighed. I did not know the full extent of the injury to her neck, having only seen the top of the twisted scar, but I could not fault her for wishing to be cured. Certainly, if there was some miracle treatment that could heal my leg I would have taken it myself, and I realized that the ferret and I were not too different. I took no pleasure in crushing a kit's dream, but it had to be done. I eased myself downwards, leaning heavily upon my umbrella to do so, until I could look Molly in the eye. "Molly," I said gently, "This could no more heal your throat than it could my leg."

She looked down at the ground, though I had already seen the tears welling in her eyes. It could not have been an easy life, the one she had led, and I suspected that even as her head had known that the elixir was worthless her heart had hoped desperately that it could heal her injury. I did not think an urchin held onto wonder particularly long, and I could feel a sympathetic sorrow at her pain, having killed what must have been nearly the last of it. Her ears back in abject misery, Molly offered me the bottle's cork, which I used to re-stopper the bottle. I was not one to litter, so I slid the bottle of worthless medicine into the satchel where I could properly dispose of it later.

I hesitated a moment. Had Molly been one of my younger sisters, or one of my young nieces, I knew what I would have done, but I did not know how she would react. Comfort and affection had always been willingly given between bunnies, and I did not know if it was the same for ferrets. Still, I could not stand to see her so, and I pulled her into my embrace, completely heedless of the grime that covered her. She squeezed me back tightly and we held it a moment before she let go, wiping at her eyes with one paw. "Come along," I said at last, "Come along."

We walked the rest of the way to Goredian's shop in silence as quickly as I could manage, Molly grasping my right paw and holding it the entire way.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Before I get to my other notes for this chapter, Alons-y inc had a great question that made me realize there was something I haven't previously covered in my notes that's worth talking about. The question was about the repeated use of "guineas" throughout this story, rather than "sovereigns." Alons-y inc is quite correct that, by 1881, guinea coins were no longer being minted. The sovereign, worth one pound, entirely replaced it. However, this brings us into the interesting (to me, anyway) territory of pre-decimal British currency. Prior to February 15, 1971, British currency was not set up to have units evenly divisible by 10; one pound was made up of 240 pence with 12 pence in a shilling and 20 shillings in a pound. Incidentally, this is what J.K. Rowling was parodying with the frankly bizarre and unintuitive divisions (1 Galleon = 17 Sickles = 493 Knuts) of wizard money in Harry Potter.

The guinea was a golden coin, originally made to be worth 20 shillings. Due to fluctuations in the price of gold it reached the point that, when production was stopped in 1814, it had its value fixed at 21 shillings, but had previously been worth as much as 30 shillings. Having the major unit of your currency being worth 21 of the next smallest unit was pretty inconvenient, however, and in 1816 the pound was set as the standard, with the sovereign being minted to be worth 20 shillings. However, even when guineas stopped being made, some prices were still listed in guineas rather than in pounds, including land, certain luxury items, and livestock. This continues even to this day for a small number of items, although a guinea is now taken to mean the decimal equivalent (£1.05).

As such, it says something about the characters who report values in guineas. Mr. Goredian was essentially puffing himself up and trying to make his shop seem more high-class in chapter 7 by offering his prize in guineas rather than pounds. Dr. Hopps's use of guineas as offers to urchins and cabbies is indicative of growing up on a relatively successful farm, as there wouldn't be too many things that she would have interacted with that had a value over a pound, and most things that did would be reported in guineas. When Wilde offers Finn a guinea in chapter 8 after being told that their previously arranged price is too low, he's making a small joke by taking on an aristocratic air about the value of his own life.

Also note that, each time a value of a guinea is actually paid, it takes multiple coins rather than a single one; Wilde's little coin purse does not contain any guineas.

The other aspect to touch on is what all of the various prices for things are actually worth. I know that when I read anything set hundreds of years ago, I feel a lot like Admiral Kirk in 1986, wondering if $100 is a lot of money. To begin with, two tonnes of gold would have been worth about £299,670 in 1881. Currently, it'd be worth about £67.1 million (about $86.5 million, or €79.1 million). Dr. Hopps's military pension, mentioned in chapter 1, of 11 shillings and 6 pence a day in 1881 is equivalent to £53.23 today ($68.61, or €62.75). That makes it pretty understandable, I think, why she needs a roommate to live in a city. One guinea, Dr. Hopps's apparent favorite incentive to offer, would be worth somewhere around £97 today (about $120 or €110). Considering the relative difference in purchasing power between 1881 and 2017, that's a lot of money. Also considering that Wilde's purse had at least 12 guineas worth of coins in it, you may be given cause to wonder how truthful he was being in chapter 11 when he chose not to call a cab, claiming that he was saving his money to move out.

Hopefully that explanation wasn't too boring. I've said it before elsewhere, and I'll say it again here; I will always gladly answer any questions that people have. Please, feel free to ask whatever you like and I'll provide an answer. Thank you very much, Alons-y inc, for your great question and your kind words about the story!

Moving onto another topic, the 19th century was definitely the time of caveat emptor when it came to most consumer products, particularly medicines. As there were no regulations at the time as to what could be put into medicines, or even about accurately labeling the contents, there were plenty of cases where they were placebos at best and poison at worst. Typically, patent medicines would consist largely of alcohol with herbs or other ingredients added to give them a medicinal taste. It was also quite common for opiates to be added; since opium is a particularly strong painkiller, it was often the one used. Even worse, its strength as a cough suppressant and its narcotic properties meant that opium was even used in medicines meant for soothing babies or treating croup in infants. The use of narcotics and dangerous chemicals in patent medicines only began to decrease when increased public awareness and pressure for consumer protection gained strength towards the end of the century and into the early 20th century, especially as the result of high profile cases of patent medicines causing serious harm or death to people who took them.

Zalver's name comes from "Kwakzalvar," which is Dutch for someone who sells salves, and is the origin of a "quack" to mean a fraud peddling medical treatments. The patent medicine show in this chapter is a more or less textbook con, with the use of a plant in the form of the supposedly crippled calf and a shill in the form of his mother.

Threshers, which separate wheat grain from its stalk and husk, were invented in the early 19th century; although farms did not become fully mechanized until quite a bit later, even manually operated farm equipment could be extremely dangerous.


	17. Chapter 17

I stopped my young companion once Goredian's company was in sight. As before, the complete lack of vegetation covering the front wall of Goredian's company made it stand out from its neighbors, and I was glad of the distinction. Many of the other storefronts were so overgrown that they were difficult to pick out, and there were some preparations to be made before I entered. I was, in truth, also glad of the opportunity to rest my leg. Though the route was entirely downhill, we had set as quick a pace as I could manage, and the abominable orange dress was absolutely stifling. I pulled at the collar in a futile attempt to get some sort of circulation going, then turned to Molly. "Could you fetch a cab and have it wait for us?" I asked, fumbling in my satchel for coins.

The ferret nodded and took off as though she was not in an oppressively hot and humid simulacrum of a rain forest. I expected that we would need a cab again, and did not want to have to wait for it, but I confess that I had an ulterior motive in setting Molly to the task. I knew that Goredian took a dim view indeed of predators, and even should I try to play her off as a servant I doubted she would be welcome. It was better, I thought, to keep her away from the bull. With that thought, I entered the shop.

It felt as though it had been far longer since I had been inside, although it was only a matter of hours. Although I had somehow expected it to be different, it looked much the same as before. The same doe was behind the main desk, and her surly expression told me she well remembered our previous encounter. Before I could even open my mouth, she had a question for me. "Are you here to see Mr. Goredian, ma'am?" she said, her tone quite respectful even though I could see the dislike she bore me in her eyes.

I fell back into my role as an impatient and imperious rabbit of means easily enough. "At once," I said, my head tilted back.

In a trice, the deer had returned with her employer. "It is good to see you again, Mrs. Cotton," Goredian said warmly, as he ushered me back into his showroom, "Have you and your husband made a decision?"

Before I could speak, Goredian continued. "Either way, I must be honest with you," Goredian said, fidgeting with his hooves, "You have seen the afternoon papers to-day?"

"I have," I said, and then did my best to appear to be coming to a realization, "Do you mean about the bank robbery? Did that have something to do with your locks?"

Goredian briefly looked at the floor before returning his attention to me. "The papers have not published it yet, but the gold that was stolen was in one of my lock boxes," he admitted, and I saw the shame that it caused him, "But it is only a matter of time, I am sure, before it is reported."

"You told me only this morning that your safes were impregnable," I said, puffing myself up to appear affronted, "What sort of fraud are you?"

"No fraud at all, Mrs. Cotton," he replied hastily, waving his hooves, "I am sure that it was no fault of my lock that the gold was stolen; likely the key was stolen or it was an inside job."

The defensiveness that had been writ across his face gave way to something far darker. "Mr. Lemming entrusts the key to that _wolf_ of his," he said, practically spitting the name of Garou's species, "Whether it was careless or wicked, I would not be surprised; you cannot trust a predator."

I nodded as though I was agreeing with Goredian and his loathsome views. I had seen my fair share of carelessness and wickedness among both predator and prey, and while the former may be more inclined towards a tendency to have those faults than the latter, I would ascribe most of the difference to upbringing with biology contributing a smaller portion. Still, I had myself wondered if Garou could be responsible for the theft. It was quite true that the wolf had held the key, and it would have been trivial for him to give it to the thieves for the theft and then taken it back afterwards. Indeed, had the wolf masterminded the entire affair it would make perfect sense; as Mr. Lemming's servant he likely had complete knowledge of all of the vital details of the bank and how they could be defeated. On the other paw, I had seen the photographic evidence that Garou had served Mr. Lemming for well over a decade, and considering the dismissal of the bank's guards I did not believe the lemming to be a particularly forgiving boss. Clearly, whether it was deserved or not, the wolf had his implicit trust. Considering that Garou had been sent to deliver Trunkaby's note and collect Wilde, the wolf obviously knew where Wilde lived and would have been able to dispatch a co-conspirator to abduct the fox. Further, while any of the mammals present could have spread the knowledge further, only those of us who had been in the vault had initially known that Wilde possessed the key, and Garou was in that group. My visit to Weaselton's had made me absolutely certain that Wilde's kidnapping was associated with the theft of the gold, and specifically with getting that key. All in all, Garou seemed the most likely suspect, though if he was guilty his continued presence around his employer gave him an excellent alibi.

"Be that as it may," I said, realizing that I had been silent in thought slightly too long and had to continue the conversation, "You understand that I find it difficult to take this matter solely on your word. Surely you understand my valuables are of the utmost importance. I must have absolute trust in the means by which they are secured."

"I understand completely, madame. Were I in your position I would do the same," he said, "Once the lock box is returned to my care I shall be able to definitively state how it was opened."

I frowned, and it was not a bit of acting. When I had first met Chief Inspector Bogo, the buffalo had said that the lock box had been sent back to Goredian. That had been nearly an hour-and-a-half previously, and even if I supposed that the lock box had been sent out only moments before I spoke to the officer rather than earlier in the day, it seemed entirely enough time for the lock box to have arrived. I supposed it was possible that Goredian was lying to me, but I did not think it likely. After all, he had been the one to bring the conversation in the direction of the bank robbery; while he could have been hedging his bets against a customer finding out after their purchase was made, I thought it more likely that he really was an honest businessmammal. "Is it not a top priority?" I asked, doing my best to sound haughty, "It was last night, was it not, that the gold was stolen?"

Goredian had a ready answer. "It shall be my very highest priority, once the lock box is back in my possession. It was the courier company that's to blame," he said, "They left a note saying that there was no one to receive the shipment, and they would re-attempt to-morrow."

He gave a humorless chuckle. "A lie, I am sure. My shipping and receiving area is always staffed, and they swear that no attempt was made. Doubtlessly they were simply too lazy to make the delivery."

I recalled that Wilde had recorded the names and addresses of several couriers in his journal entry for the case, and realized what the scheme had been. The thieves must have defeated the lock box in a way that Goredian would have been able to identify, and were thereafter attempting to destroy the evidence. Wilde must have known that the thieves would prevent the lock box from being returned to Goredian, and somehow deduced the possible options. I thought quickly before I responded. "Do you know which courier?" I asked, "My husband and I are in the courier business ourselves. Hermes Deliveries. You have heard of us, I'm sure?"

I was grateful that, when first I spoke with Goredian, I had not spoken of the line of work that Mr. and Mrs. Cotton were supposedly in, and I was almost surprised at how easily the lie came off my tongue. "I have not," Goredian replied, "Though we may speak business later."

"With my husband, perhaps," I said dismissively, "Should it have been one of our couriers, I shall see to it that they are sharply rebuked, and should it be one of our competitors I should like to know which of them has failed so thoroughly."

I was continuing to lie through my teeth, but Goredian did not seem to notice. "Let me fetch the note," he said, "I'm afraid I don't recall the name."

He left me in the showroom, and as I looked around at the cases I was struck by a thought. If the courier who had failed to deliver the lock box to Goredian was also on Wilde's list, I had little doubt that they must be associated with the thieves in some way. It also followed, I thought, that the thieves were in the process of destroying the evidence, which made the key to the lock box the last item they required. While I supposed it was safe enough with the police, there was no telling what might be happening to Wilde in the meantime.

As these dismal thoughts occupied my mind, my eyes had fallen on the contents of one of the display cases, which showed a variety of keys that Goredian's company made, including one that looked quite similar to the one that Wilde had taken from Garou. I realized what I could do with that key, and I took an action that was, I assure the reader, entirely outside of my normal character: I stole the key.

I have always considered myself an honest mammal, and I could not recall having ever stolen anything before, not so much as an apple. I had always held my duties to crown and country with the highest degree of professionalism possible, but it seemed to me that desperate times called for desperate measures. I thought that, if I should be able to find the thieves, I might be able to trade the key for Wilde; as the key did not go to the proper lock box, it would do them no good, and as the lock was filled with lead they would have no means of realizing my trickery.

Goredian returned holding a somewhat crumpled piece of paper. "Alces and Sons," he said, "I'll never use them for my business, you can be sure of that."

I did my best to conceal my excitement, for Alces and Sons had been one of the couriers in Wilde's journal. "I'll come calling again the day after to-morrow, then," I said, "Should you be certain that your lock had no fault, we can finalize my purchase."

"That's most fair of you," he said, showing me out.

"I appreciate a mammal who deals with me honestly," I said, "I only hope that you are correct and it was an inside job at the bank."

* * *

I left the shop as quickly as I could, and was pleased to see that Molly had managed to find a cab. I flipped through Wilde's journal and found his neatly written entry for Alces and Sons. "Warehouse 47 on Pier 12," I said, "How quickly can you get there?"

The horse pulling the cab was a young mare, and she looked me up and down before turning to my young companion, apparently puzzled that we should be traveling together. "How quickly?" I repeated, allowing urgency to creep into my voice.

The mare's attention turned back to me. "No more than half-an-hour, ma'am," she said, "It's just further down the canyon, where the river meets the bay."

That was a better answer than I could have hoped for, but that was still too long. "Make it a quarter hour and there's a guinea in it for you," I offered.

The mare frowned. "Why—"

"No questions," I said firmly, but I pulled out the appropriate coinage to show her that I could pay.

The cab ride to the warehouse was rapid indeed, and I spent it refining my rough plan. It was, as Wilde might have said, simplicity itself. If I was correct, and the moose who had abducted Wilde was holding his prisoner in the warehouse, I would offer the key I had stolen in exchange for Wilde. They would have no means of knowing that it was not the correct key, and once the trade was made I was sure that Wilde could demonstrate his conclusion and ensure that the mammals responsible were brought to justice. I tried to avoid allowing my thoughts to dwell on all the ways in which even so simple a plan could go awry; I had my service revolver in case more civilized negotiating did not work, but I hoped it would not come to that.

The Ratenbach Falls, which cascaded down one wall of the canyon in which the Rain-Forest District had been built, fed the waters of the River Hammes, which flowed into the ocean. The ride to the bay along the floor of the canyon was a pretty one, but I had been too focused on planning to pay any attention to the spectacular parks and mansions of the ground level of the district. The canyon in which the Rain-Forest District had been built was an enormous box canyon, and there was a great wall of glass and iron where the open side of the canyon had been mostly closed off when the district was turned into a greenhouse. That wall, which afforded incredible views of the ocean on the path down the canyon, ended about fifty feet above the water level of the River Hammes. In sharp contrast with the parts of the ground level of the district closest to the Falls, which were all public spaces or luxurious housing, the parts closest to the bay were all piers, docks, and warehouses.

In short order, the mare dropped Molly and I off, but I was somewhat disappointed when she refused to stay and wait at the warehouse. She apparently considered it wise to stay untangled from my activities, and I could not fault her for that. It was, therefore, just Molly and myself who crept to the warehouse, which was utterly unremarkable. It was modestly sized, the wood of the exterior somewhat green with lichen and moss from the climate, but it seemed solid enough. There was a simple sign above the door that read "Alces and Sons Couriers."

The door to the warehouse was massive and sturdily built of wooden planks. It looked as though it would slide quite readily on its metal rail, but it was completely unnecessary for me to open it further, as it had been left ajar by a foot or so. A padlock nearly the size of my paw with my fingers spread wide hung open on its shackle from an equally solid hasp of steel screwed into the outside wall of the warehouse, which I took to mean that it was occupied. I kept low to the ground and peered in through the gap, but I needn't have bothered; a tall crate positioned near the entrance prevented me from seeing into the interior space, and I supposed that the same would be true for someone on the inside so long as I kept my ears down. The hat that was paired with my dress was good for that, at least, and I held cautiously by the doorway, straining to hear anything. I thought it the wisest course of action to assess the situation as best as I could before entering; I could have no assurances that the thief or thieves would wish to deal fairly with me. I heard the gentle murmur of voices and laughter, although I could neither tell how many mammals were present nor make out any words.

I was about to consider that I had been entirely wrong in my course of action and that the warehouse was simply occupied by careless couriers, when I heard a male voice, distinctly though somewhat faintly, and supposed that the mammal speaking must have been near to the center of the warehouse. "Is Wilde still breathing?" the mammal asked, sounding worried.

My heart leaped up in my chest and my own breath stopped for a moment. There could be no doubt that I had found Wilde, but my triumph was made bitter with the knowledge that I might be too late. I could not say with certainty what agent had been used to subdue Wilde, but I was well aware of the dangers that anesthetics could pose. In response to the question, I heard a dull thud, as though something had been struck heavily. I heard a sharp intake of breath, and then another voice spoke. "What's he that wishes so?"the mammal said, and it took me a moment to recognize the voice as Wilde's.

It scarcely sounded like him at all; his words were slurred and his voice had an uneven, ethereal quality that made me think that the fox was disoriented from whatever had been used to render him unconscious. A mammal spoke a reply, but the voice was so low and so deep that even my superlative hearing could not make out words; it was nothing but a faint rumble although the tone sounded angry. It was followed by the sound of another blow being struck, and Wilde spoke again, his voice just as unsteady and the words making just as little sense as the previous time. "How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!" he said, and while the words sounded vaguely familiar to my ear I could not place them.

I supposed that one of the mammals in the warehouse was about to strike Wilde again, for I heard the first mammal cry out, "Stop! What did you dose him with, Alces?"

A new voice spoke. "The bottle said, 'Ace,'" a voice said sullenly, "It's not my fault he's gone off in the head."

I had a moment of confusion before I realized what the speaker—Alces, who I assumed to be the bull moose who had abducted Wilde—meant. ACE mixture was a potent combination of alcohol, chloroform, and ether, and if it had been used to render Wilde unconscious it was little wonder that he was experiencing mental confusion as he came out of an anesthetic haze. I had ever viewed ACE mixture with suspicion, considering the alcohol to be an addition of dubious value and no small harm due to the longer recovery it caused. I had been given another reason to mistrust it now that it seemed Wilde would be seriously injured by the thieves because he was unable to provide a sensible answer. "Ace," the first voice repeated, and I head a note of skepticism in it, "Alces, we cannot afford any more delays."

"It's not my fault," Alces whined.

The mammal with the deep and low voice spoke again, and while again I could only hear the tone and note the words, I thought it was something to cool the tempers of the other mammals, and they fell into silence. The entire time I had been sitting by the doorway, Molly had been at my side outside the warehouse, and I supposed that she must have heard nearly as much as I had, for her eyes were wide as saucers when I looked over at her. I pulled out Wilde's journal and tore a blank page from it as quietly as I could, scribbling a note with the stub of a pencil that had been tucked into the spine. As best as I can recall, for I have not seen the note since writing it, my note read as follows:

> _Found Wilde and the gold thieves. They are holding him at Warehouse 47 on Pier 12 in the Rain-Forest District. Come at once._
> 
> _-Dr. J.L. Hopps_

I gave it over to Molly along with a pawful of coins. "Find a constable or get to the nearest station," I said, as low as I could speak and still be audible, "Constable Clawhauser in precinct one will know what to make of this."

I did not know if Molly would be able to find a constable, considering the riot at the bank was likely sapping officers away from other districts. I knew that Clawhauser, at least, would be at the precinct one station and knew that the station had a telephone, for Mr. Lemming had stated that the night guards at his bank had summoned the very same mammal I wished my note to get to by means of a telephone. I did not know if the station in the Rain-Forest District would have a telephone, but I hoped that it did, for time was of the essence. "Do you understand?" I asked, "Quick as you can."

The little ferret nodded and then was off running. I had not heard anything further from inside the warehouse while I had written the note and relayed my instructions, and I hoped desperately that nothing further would happen until the police arrived. Considering the violent nature of the mammals inside, I did not think negotiating, whether with my words or my revolver, would be fruitful, and I racked my brains for another solution. My thoughts were interrupted when the first voice spoke again, and I heard a warning note to it. "Where's the key, Wilde?"

I felt a moment of vindication when the thief all but confirmed my theory even as I realized that events were taking a dangerous turn. There was no telling what would be done to Wilde if his answers continued to be nonsensical, and as I had feared, the fox's next words meant little enough. "All things are ready, if our minds be so," he said deliriously, and from the sound of another blow I doubted his captors appreciated his statement.

His words were doubtlessly the babbling of a mammal without full control of their faculties, but they were true enough, or at least I hoped that they were. I could not, in good conscience, wait for the police while events continued to escalate within the warehouse. I would have to take direct action, lest there be no further action possible to save Wilde. If I should fail, it would be better than to sit idly by. I had the key that I had stolen from Goredian, which I had done in the hopes that I might be able to make some use of it, should I only be able to find his kidnappers. I had found them, and I would not accept cowardice on my part as an excuse. I had hoped to be able to face the moose alone, with full knowledge of the situation I was walking into rather than jumping into the unknown, but I had no choice.

There could have been only three thieves in the warehouse. There could have been dozens, and I was but a single crippled bunny; if I walked in it would take them no time at all to incapacitate me. I would have to outwit them, and when inspiration struck I took a moment to take further preparations before I crossed the threshold.

It was only once I was inside the warehouse that I realized the enormity of the error I had committed.


	18. Chapter 18

I had thought my preparations to be rather clever. In a moment of inspiration, I had removed the label from the bottle of patent medicine that I had confiscated from Molly and un-corked it. With no label, the bottle's dull red contents were plainly visible and could have been anything, which I planned to use to full advantage. I held the bottle by its neck with one paw and the key I had stolen from Goredian in the other, keeping the key over the mouth of the bottle so that I would be able to drop it in. I thought to bluff Wilde's tormentors and claim that the fraudulent medicine was acid, thereby avoiding a physical confrontation.

What I realized only after I had moved into the warehouse and beyond the safety afforded by the crate nearest the door was that I had neglected to leave myself a free paw for the umbrella I was using as a cane, and had in fact left it propped up against the outside of the warehouse. It was a foolish mistake, one of the sort that I would have thought myself long past, but just as when I had leaped out of the police carriage after Wilde the excitement of the situation had blinded me to the reality of my infirmity. I had not felt the pain in my bad leg at all while walking the few yards, but it became all I could do to focus on anything but the pain. Although my foot was somewhat numb as it had always been since my injury, I could feel the tremble that meant I was in the very real danger of having my leg collapse from underneath me. I balanced desperately on my good leg, gritting my teeth at the pain and with no small measure of stubbornness.

I had made an error that could very well be grave, for both myself and Wilde, but I refused to stop. My only hope relied on exchanging the key for Wilde as quickly as possible before I fell to the floor. "Halloa!" I called out towards the mammals at the center of the warehouse.

Although the warehouse was lit dimly by only what light could make its way through the filthy skylights in the roof, I could still see well enough, though the corners of the open space disappeared into shadows. There were four mammals in a rough semi-circle around what I recognized as the lock box from the bank and Wilde, who was sprawled on the dirty boards of the warehouse floor with his paws bound behind his back.

Although every moment I stood without the umbrella to maintain my balance and provide support felt like an eternity of agony, I was rather glad at the precautions I had taken when I saw the thieves. In addition to the moose who had abducted Wilde, there was a panda bear, a camel, and a horse, any one of which could have likely overpowered me alone, to say nothing of what they could accomplish as a group. Indeed, they were to a mammal powerfully built, dressed in the simple clothes of mammals who made their living with manual labor.

The camel spat on the floor of the warehouse. "Are you lost, lady?" he said, and by his voice knew he was the mammal I had first heard speaking, "You'd best leave. Warehouses can be awful dangerous."

He directed a kick at the insensate form of Wilde, who gave no reaction. "Found this thieving fox skulking about," he added, and favored me with a smile that exposed a mouthful of rotting green teeth, "Naught for you to worry about."

While he spoke, the other three mammals had begun to slowly move towards me, and I knew that what happened next would depend largely on my reaction. "That's far enough," I said sharply, and held the key and the bottle before me, "In one paw I have the key you desire. In the other, _aqua regia_. Take another step and I swear I'll dissolve it."

The three other mammals froze, but the camel, who I surmised to be the leader of the rough group, simply laughed, his entire demeanor changing as he realized I knew the true reason Wilde was there. "You must be the bunny, then," he said, turning to the moose, "Alces, you didn't mention the dress."

The moose shrugged his massive shoulders. "She wasn't dressed like that, last I saw her."

The camel turned his attention back to me. "Go ahead and destroy the key, then," he said carelessly, "Should Wilde have produced it, we would do the same."

I wondered if I had compounded my error, but I thought not. I did not know to what purpose the thieves desired the key, but I thought the camel's words to be falsehoods. "Very well," I said, and allowed the key to slip a fraction of an inch through my grasp.

From the way that the thieves all started in surprise, I thought my theory correct. "A lie, then," I said, favoring the camel with a smile of my own, "Perhaps we can skip to the negotiations."

Although I was putting on a brave face, I could only hope that I was appearing strong. I could not manage to stand much longer, and if I fell I knew that it would all be over, with one of the thieves on me in a trice. The camel scowled and folded his arms across his chest and I laid out my terms. "I'll exchange the key for Wilde," I said, and the camel seemed surprised at my words.

"Gladly," he said, "He's been no use to us."

I frowned at the way in which the camel had so readily accepted. Though I supposed that the thieves desperately wanted the key for some reason, I would have thought them to be more suspicious, particularly considering that the camel had so glibly had a lie on his tongue as to why they had a bound fox in the warehouse. I did not think that I could trust him to keep to his word, and I racked my brain for how to maintain the advantage. I considered my position in the warehouse. It was perhaps four yards from where I stood to where Wilde was on the floor. It was only about six yards from the door of the warehouse to where I stood, but considering my bad leg it may as well have been six miles. "Untie Wilde, and send him this way," I said, "Once he is to me, I'll put down the key."

"Very well," the camel replied, and though I was glad that he was not dragging things out, I thought again that he was too quick to agree, "Untie him, Chao."

At his words, the panda moved over to Wilde, who had remained silent and glassy-eyed throughout the entire proceedings as though he had no idea what was transpiring around him. After untying Wilde's paws, the panda brought him to his feet as easily as I might lift a pen. "Go on," he said, pointing in my direction, and his was the voice that had been so deep and low that I had not been able to make it out from beyond the warehouse's door.

"That's a rather large carrot," Wilde slurred as he faced me, forcibly reminding me of how gaudy the awful orange dress I wore was, "Are you sure?"

The panda gave Wilde no verbal response, instead shoving him roughly in my direction. Wilde stumbled like a drunkard, but when he reached me and touched my shoulder with an unsteady paw he did not put any weight on it, instead dropping me a sly wink that only I could see, all traces of his previous confusion gone. "Careful now," he murmured, his voice so low that none of the thieves could hear him, "There's a fifth."

I inclined my head minutely to indicate that I had heard, even as I tried to look around the warehouse without giving it away that I was doing so. My vision could not pierce the shadows of the corners, and there were so many boxes and crates stacked around the borders of the warehouse that a mammal could be hidden about anywhere. "Give up the key," the camel said sharply, "On the ground, now."

I could not keep the pain that bending down caused me from showing on my face, but under the guise of supporting himself against me, Wilde lowered himself with me and positioned his back such that the thieves could not see it. Most usefully, however, he lent a paw under my arm so that I could brace myself against him, which was a mercy; my bad leg felt as though it would give way at any moment and only the sheer force of my will was keeping me upright. Once the key and the bottle were out of my paws and on the floor, the four thieves began slowly creeping forward, but I had anticipated this and pulled my revolver forth with one paw and used the other to pull myself upright using Wilde's arm as a support.

Before the thieves had the chance to move much more than a foot I sighted an unlit gaslight hanging from one of the beams that supported the roof of the warehouse perhaps fifty feet away and squeezed off a round. It had been many months since I had last fired a gun and I was still weak from my long illness. The recoil about drove the revolver back into my face and I stumbled a pace, wobbling with the agony in my bad leg before Wilde caught me and kept me from falling. The report of the gunshot was near to deafening in the enclosed space of the warehouse, and I worried at first that I had missed, but my aim remained as true as ever. The glass globe of the gaslight exploded into shards, and I redirected my revolver at the bottle on the floor. "I can hit the bottle just as easily," I threatened, my voice loud to overcome the ringing in my ears, "Stay back until we're out, else I will ensure that the key is destroyed."

The camel was anything but stupid, and he understood my threat well enough: if I shot the bottle, it would leak its contents onto the key, and as far as he knew it was full of a strong acid. He shot me a look of rage of such intensity that I had never seen its kind before. "That was not our agreement, rabbit," he said.

I started backing up, Wilde continuing to support me, as we edged towards the door. "Close enough to it," I said, unimpressed by his attempt to argue the fine details.

As I had to keep facing the bottle to maintain a bead upon it, I could not tell how close we were to the door, only that our progress felt slow as treacle. What transpired next seemed to happen all at once, but I suppose that is a tribute to Wilde's reflexes, despite his injuries. The camel's eyes darted upwards and he gave a great cry of "Now!"

As the words left his lips a tiger leaped from the darkness of the rafters towards us, his eyes filled with a terrible purpose and his wicked claws outstretched and grasping for Wilde's shoulders. Before the tiger could land, however, Wilde lifted me bodily in his arms and with a speed I would not have guessed him to possess, bolted for the exit. Although the tiger had narrowly missed us with his pounce, it took him no time at all to recover, and with a snarl of unfiltered hostility he was on his feet and back after us. I would have fired upon him, but Wilde had picked me up so roughly and with such an unexpected suddenness that I had dropped my revolver and I could only watch, bouncing with every step Wilde took, as the tiger closed on us even as the other thieves raced for the key. I had though the camel to have shown the absolute zenith of rage, but it was absolutely nothing compared to the look the predator gave, a look that I still see in my dreams sometimes of flashing yellow eyes and claws.

The tiger, unburdened and uninjured, closed the distance between us rapidly. Immediately before reaching the door out of the warehouse, Wilde heaved me from his arms, and I tumbled painfully ears over scut, moments ahead of him. He crossed the threshold mere inches ahead of the pursuing tiger and pulled at the door desperately. I did not think that he could drive it home in time, and indeed the tiger got one massive paw beyond the door, but Wilde paid it no mind and slammed the door with such force that the tiger's paw was caught between the door and the wall. The tiger withdrew his paw with a piteous yowl of pain that I could hear even through the sturdy planks of the door as Wilde shut the door and engaged the massive padlock, locking the door shut. "Away from the door," I warned, from my undignified position on the ground outside the warehouse, "I dropped my revolver."

Before making his way towards me, Wilde took my umbrella from its resting place against the wall of the warehouse and brought it to me. "That was very well done, Dr. Hopps," Wilde said approvingly, offering me a paw to pull myself to my feet.

I shook my head. "I don't think I can stand," I admitted, and it was the simple truth.

The pain in my leg had grown far and away beyond its normal ache, and I knew I would pay dearly for my carelessness over the next few days. In response, Wilde picked me up again, more gently then before, and carried me to what was probably out of my revolver's range. "That door is the only way in or out of the warehouse," Wilde observed as he lowered me to the ground and took a seat besides me, "It should hold until the police arrive. I assume you did summon the police?"

I nodded. "Excellent," Wilde said, "You have my most sincere thanks."

I thought I did, too. If I had not thought him to be an excellent actor before, his little bit of pretending to be groggy from anesthetic would have been enough to convince me that the stage had lost a mammal who could have ranked among the finest to ever tread the boards. Still, there was no sign of the usual cynicism or wry amusement upon his muzzle, just the simple openness of his gratitude that I thought suited him far better. I leaned against the fox and gave a sigh of relief that I had not failed him. I felt almost indescribably tired, and wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, but I thought that I could endure a little more, so long as he was by my side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACE mixture was a real anesthetic, and it really was made by mixing alcohol, chloroform, and ether, which gives it its name. It was first used around 1860 in recognition of the dangers that pure chloroform had as an anesthetic, but the alcohol content did mean that patients who received ACE mixture did typically come out of anesthesia somewhat excitable and disoriented. Treating ACE as an acronym instead of an initialism is, naturally, a reference to Gideon's mispronunciation of DNA in the film. In addition to ACE mixture, there were also AC and CE mixtures, which leave out one of the three ingredients. There was significant disagreement among physicians at the time as to what the most effective and safest anesthetic was, and while Dr. Hopps's view isn't necessarily the correct one, it was fairly reasonable.
> 
> As mentioned in the author notes for chapter 12, both ether and chloroform require several minutes of dosing to induce unconsciousness and continuous dosing to maintain it. The same is true of ACE mixture, but most people expect anesthetics to work the way they're shown in most media, where a couple seconds with a soaked rag over the victim's nose is enough to put them out for hours. Wilde was fortunate indeed that his abductor didn't have experience with knocking mammals out, and was clever enough to struggle and then feign unconsciousness to get the moose to stop dosing him. Also, good on you, Cimar of Turalis WildeHopps, for figuring out that Wilde was only pretending to be incapacitated.
> 
> There's something missing in the use of the ACE mixture that marks one of the changes between the 19th and 21st centuries: Dr. Hopps doesn't even consider trying to find out where the moose got the anesthetic and trying to trace him that way. Considering the urgency of finding Wilde, she could certainly be forgiven for missing something obvious, but in fact it was incredibly easy in the 19th century to get your hands on very dangerous chemicals. As mentioned in the notes for chapter 16 about patent medicines, there really wasn't much that couldn't be sold, and various anesthetics would have been readily available for anyone to buy. In the present day, tracing the source of an anesthetic would be a good lead to follow, but in 1881 it wouldn't be much more remarkable than a bottle of Tylenol would be to us in 2017.
> 
> Aqua regia is a real chemical, a mixture of nitric acid and hydrochloric acid, and it is yellow-orange in color. The reason why it has such an odd name, at least in comparison to many other chemicals, is that it was discovered and named by alchemists, who were most interested in its ability to dissolve gold, something neither nitric acid nor hydrochloric acid can do alone. It may have even been used as part of a con where gold would be dissolved in aqua regia and then precipitated out to make it appear as though the alchemist had successfully transmuted a base metal into gold. Aqua regia is capable of dissolving most metals, including steel, and had Dr. Hopps's bottle actually contained aqua regia rather than a patent medicine, it could have easily dissolved the key.
> 
> This is also as good a time as any to go into Dr. Hopps's leg injury. In movies especially, people get shot in their limbs and it's not a big deal. Reality is somewhat less forgiving. Her limp has a number of contributing factors: the damage to the muscle and bone, atrophy from spending months recovering from an unrelated illness, and nerve damage. Modern orthopedic techniques, using microsurgery to re-connect muscles and nerves, give far better outcomes than were available in the 19th century. Although Hugh Owen Thomas did pioneering work in the field of orthopedics from 1859 until his death in 1891, his work didn't become widely known until WWI created a demand for techniques to improve the outcomes for cases of severe injuries. In 1880, Dr. Hopps's bullet wound would have simply been stitched shut and the leg set. As a result, it's not the sort of injury that would ever completely heal; the numbness, weakness, and the associated difficulty balancing might eventually diminish somewhat, but as Dr. Hopps noted in chapter 12, her days of running are over.
> 
> "Halloa" is currently an archaic word, but it is a period appropriate way of calling attention to something or oneself. Although Dr. Hopps is indeed a bold one, "Hello, there," just doesn't quite have the same Victorian flavor.
> 
> A warehouse only having one way in or out would never be allowed in the present day, as it's a fire and safety hazard, but the rules for how buildings are made were significantly more lax in the Victorian era. Unfortunately, it took events like the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire in 1911, in which the exits of the building were locked by the owners causing 146 workers to die when they could not escape a fire, to drive safety reforms.


	19. Chapter 19

While we awaited the arrival of the police, Wilde fell to the contents of his satchel with considerable enthusiasm at my having brought them along, and quickly became so focused that he seemed to blot out all else. Indeed, he gave absolutely no reaction when the distinctive sharp crack of gunfire came from the warehouse, so devoted was he to his perusal of the _Annals of the New Yak Academy of Sciences._ It was only when the sound of gunfire was followed by the tinkling of broken glass that he seemed to pay any sort of attention to the desperate attempts of the thieves to exit the warehouse, but even then he did not look up, merely murmuring, "Five and done," while he continued his review.

Despite his outwards lack of any indicator that he was paying attention, he must have been counting the shots, for he was quite correct that, counting the one I had made myself, five shots had been fired and that was all my revolver had held. Although his reaction was more disinterested than anything else, I could not help but be concerned by the sound of breaking glass, and looking to the roof of the warehouse saw that it was one of the skylights that had been broken. "Might they not get out that way?" I asked, choosing to interrupt his focus and pointing at the roof.

"Hmm?" Wilde said vaguely, not looking up from his reading material, "No, the iron bars meant to keep thieves out shall serve just as well to keep them in."

I had not recalled seeing that the skylights had been reinforced with bars, but since Wilde had an incredible knack for detail and appeared entirely unconcerned, I attempted to force my own misgivings down. The difference between failure and success had held a margin so thin as a razor's edge, and yet I found myself feeling more alive than I ever had since leaving the service. Even when Trunkaby showed up with a number of other officers some time later, my heart still seemed to be singing in my breast, my every sense seeming sharper than they ever had.

"I had thought you'd be dead," Trunkaby admitted when she caught sight of Wilde, and I chose not to take that as a slight against my own abilities.

The elephant was looking somewhat worse for the wear, for her clothes had a number of small tears and dirty patches that were doubtlessly mementos of the riot at the bank. She herself seemed uninjured, which I supposed was unsurprising; the massive elephant's thick hide was likely protection enough against the rioters. "No need to sound disappointed," Wilde said, offering her a winning smile, "Though you may have been correct, else for the interference of Dr. Hopps."

Trunkaby looked down at me with a frown. "I shall be very interested to hear how that transpired."

"That can wait," Wilde said, "I believe your first priority should be to arrest the mammals in that warehouse."

I expected Trunkaby to take umbrage at Wilde more or less issuing her an order, but instead she listened to his description of the mammals in the warehouse and their armaments, which he believed amounted only to my revolver with no remaining bullets. She efficiently directed the constables who had come with her to prepare for entry, and I did not think the thieves had any chance of escape. She had brought a group of what must have been the largest mammals on the force; in addition to a bull elephant she had a rhinoceros, a hippopotamus, and a gaur.

Once the door had been opened and the thieves saw how badly they had been outmaneuvered, they submitted to arrest quietly enough, though the camel caught sight of Wilde and I and let forth with a stream of invectives against both bunnies and foxes of a nature entirely inappropriate to replicate here. For his part, Wilde's only response was a lazy salute.

"Do make sure you take the lock box," Wilde called out to the constables once the thieves had been secured in a Black Maria, "It is a key piece of evidence."

The bull elephant and the gaur looked to Trunkaby for direction, and she nodded. "Load it into my carriage," she said, and the two constables moved the lock box with some difficulty into the very same carriage that Wilde had been abducted from.

Wilde assisted me up into the carriage after the lock box, and we waited briefly for Trunkaby to join us. "Our next stop should be the bank, I think," said Wilde, "Perhaps Dr. Hopps would be so kind as to explain how she found me on the way."

Trunkaby seemed willing enough to go along with Wilde's proposal, and in short order the team of horses drawing Trunkaby's carriage had set us off towards the bank. I told the story as efficiently as possible, and Wilde's only interruption came when I got to the point of entering the warehouse unaware of exactly how many mammals were in it. "I did try to provide a warning," he interjected.

I frowned. As far as I could recall, he had only babbled nonsense while pretending to be incapacitated by anesthetic. At my look of consternation, the fox gave a chuckle. "You can brush up on the classics later," he remarked, "Do go on."

There was not much more to tell, but I went through the rest. Trunkaby had sat listening without interruption, and once I had concluded my story she pulled the true key to the lock box from a pocket inside her jacket and turned her attention to Wilde. "Why do you suppose they wanted this key, and yet did not want it destroyed? Surely, if they wanted to conceal how the lock was defeated, they would have allowed its destruction."

"That is simple enough," remarked Wilde, "Would you mind giving it over?"

Trunkaby gave Wilde the key, and he tucked it away into a pocket of his own. "I'll explain it all at the bank," he remarked, and glanced out the window before continuing, "We are almost there, I think."

* * *

In a matter of a few more minutes, we had arrived at the bank, which showed the full effects of the riot that had occurred. The street had a number of gaps, like missing teeth, where cobbles had been pulled up and thrown through the windows of the bank. The street itself was littered with detritus, and I could see a few stains of what could only be blood. The mighty marble walls of the bank's exterior were cracked here and there where a cobble had missed a window, and the face of the great clock on the pediment over the main entrance was shattered.

Inside, the bank did not look much better. The finery looked all the worse for how roughly it had been treated, with some chairs and tables in broken ruins on the floor. Near one of the counters, Chief Inspector Bogo had interposed himself between a rather extraordinary display. Mr. Lemming, perched on Garou's palm as usual, was engaged in a shrill shouting match with another lemming standing atop a teller's desk. "It shall be my word against that of yourself and your pet," the second lemming was saying, his words colored by a slight foreign accent, "We'll see how the board feels."

"Gentlemammals, please—" Chief Inspector Bogo interjected tiredly, but it seemed they were both content to ignore him, and Garou was standing still as a statue, despite the slight against him.

"Your lies, you mean," Mr. Lemming shouted apoplectically, "I gave no such order! I would never give such an order! Making predators wait to make withdrawals after prey only worsened the run on the deposits; they shall never believe me to be so foolish. "

"Considering that the theft occurred on your watch, I would not be so sure of that," the second lemming replied rather smugly.

"When is the board deciding this, then?" Wilde asked brightly, and the second lemming turned to face the newcomer with a look of absolute shock upon his face.

"What is that fox doing here?" the second lemming stammered, "He has no right to come here."

"Come now, Mr. Lemmineaux," Wilde said, addressing him, "The jig is up, and it is time that the piper be paid."

"What's the meaning of this?" Mr. Lemming blustered, appearing entirely lost, "What do you mean?"

"Is it not obvious? Your executive vice president here, Mr. Jean-Paul Lemmineaux, late of the Furis branch, is the one responsible for the theft of the gold."

Wilde seemed to take great pleasure at the stunned expressions that had come across the faces of everyone else in the bank. Mr. Lemming recovered first, and turned on the other lemming. "Is this true, Jean?"

Before Lemmineaux could reply, Wilde cut in. "You may as well confess; I have already recovered the gold and I suspect your accomplices will be quite ready to give you up."

Lemmineaux's little face took on an expression of pure loathing as he turned to Mr. Lemming. "I may as well, then. I've ruined you, at least, and that is worth far more than any amount of gold."

"Why ever would you do such a thing?" Mr. Lemming demanded.

"You have to ask?" snarled Lemmineaux, his face darkening, "I watched your nephew drive the Furis branch into the ground. He had no business running a newsstand, let alone a bank, and yet he got the top job. I may be a lemming, but I'll never be a Lemming, and that is what is important, eh? And when at last his failures could no longer be overlooked, when the only profitable ventures the branch was engaged in were those I had arranged, what was my reward? To be transferred from Furis to this wretched city, to watch another Lemming be given the top spot at _my_ branch."

The look of betrayal that Lemming wore was near absolute, and he did not seem to be capable of speech as Chief Inspector Bogo personally put Lemmineaux into a small cage of the same sort that Trunkaby had transported Mr. Waldheim in and took him out of the bank. Even once the buffalo and his prisoner were gone, the lemming was simply staring into the middle distance, his servant as stoic as ever.

"Have you really recovered the gold?" Trunkaby asked, turning her attention to Wilde.

"Of course. I shall endeavor to explain the theft in its most minute detail," Wilde said, "Come, let us go back to your carriage and leave Mr. Lemming and his servant to their thoughts."

Once we had taken our seats within the spacious carriage, Wilde launched into his explanation. "Let us proceed from the start. A simple examination was enough to determine that the so-called crime scene was anything but; the gold never made it to the bank."

"Never made it to the bank?" Trunkaby cried, "What nonsense is this?"

"Think now," Wilde replied, "The lock box was in a crate that had never been opened until it was in the vault; there were none of the tell-tale marks that would show the lid had ever been removed and replaced previously. Leaving aside your theory as to rodents entering the crate through a knothole in the wood, which I have already explained why it cannot be correct, the only logical conclusion is that the crate never held the gold."

Trunkaby did not seem to accept his explanation. "The crate passed every inspection, from when it left Furis and until it reached the vault. How do you suppose that was managed?"

"Well," Wilde said, "That was a bit of cleverness on the part of the thieves; I must give them their due. None of the inspections involved opening the crate, merely weighing it and checking the labels. Continuing the chain of my logic, if the gold never arrived in the vault, the theft could only have been done at one of three times: either before it was loaded on the ship, while it was on the ship, or before the crate was delivered."

I recalled that Wilde had previously claimed to have narrowed the means by which the crime had been committed to three possibilities, and I followed the thread of his logic well enough. I thought of what it implied. "You mean, then, that the crate was switched out for another?" I asked.

Wilde seemed delighted at my interjection. "Precisely so, Dr. Hopps. I went through the manifest of the _Darling Dorotka_ , the ship that transported the crate, and found only a few others that were the same size and near to the same weight."

That explained, I supposed, the items that Wilde had circled on the shipping manifest in his journal. "The crate had all of its shipping labels intact," protested Trunkaby, and I wondered how much of her skepticism was simply the elephant refusing to believe that the fox could be correct.

"I was getting to that point," Wilde said, giving her a side-long glance, "The labels were removed from the crate that did contain the gold and placed on another. The damage done to the labels by the solvent used to remove them is subtle, but obvious if you look for it."

"But you said that the other crate was near to the same weight," Trunkaby protested, "How could it both weigh the same as the one with the gold and contain naught but an empty lock box?"

"It didn't, obviously," Wilde said in response, and I thought that I saw a gleam of pleasure in his eye at confounding the elephant.

Indeed, I wondered the same myself, for it did not make sense that one crate that weighed the same as another full of gold could be near enough to empty. "The crate the labels were swapped onto was heavier, as a matter of fact," Wilde said.

"That makes even less sense," Trunkaby said, and from the silent mirth that I read on the fox's face I realized that there was doubt that he was in fact enjoying her confusion.

"If I could be allowed to continue without interruption," Wilde said drolly, "I think you'll find it all quite sensible. The same lock box is used to transport gold from the Furis branch of Lemming Brothers to the Zootopia branch each time a transfer is made, but the only key is the one that Mr. Lemming's servant Garou kept around her neck."

I started at Wilde's use of the feminine pronoun for the wolf, and thought back on the interactions between the lemming and the wolf in light of that knowledge and their long association. I blurted, "You mean to say that Garou is—"

"A she-wolf, yes," Wilde said blandly as he cut me off, though there was a wicked sparkle in his eye, "To speculate further would enter the realm of gossip. Really, though, I thought you would have known, considering your own predilection towards trousers."

I had, of course, not realized at all that the wolf and I shared a gender, though I supposed we had little else in common. "Besides, I had asked for no further interruptions," Wilde said with mock severity.

"Yes, do be quiet, Dr. Hopps," Trunkaby said breathlessly, and I scarcely managed to bite my tongue to protest that she was far guiltier than I of interrupting Wilde.

"As I was saying, there was but one key to the lock box, which means that it therefore follows that each time the lock box was sent back to Furis, it had to be sent unlocked, else the branch would not be able to put gold into it. As such, we should expect the lock box to show some scars and scrapes from the many trips that it has made over the previous years, but the lock box that was in the vault was very near to pristine, and by that I knew that it could not be the same lock box that had been filled with gold, a suspicion that was corroborated when I did not note so much as a speck of gold dust within it. No matter how carefully the gold had been packaged or how carefully thieves removed it, there should have been some trace.

"The molten lead that was poured into the keyhole, therefore, was done only to hide the fact that the thieves had purchased a near to identical lock box from Goredian, for if the lock was still functional it would have been obvious to all that an exchange had been made. Similarly, the rock thrown through the window of the bank was done only to fool the police into thinking that the theft of the gold occurred in a clever break in, a ruse that worked quite admirably."

At this last, he gave a look at Trunkaby, as though he was daring her to speak, but although I thought I heard her grinding her teeth she did not speak in her defense.

"The knothole you noted was of some importance, but not in the manner which you thought. Let us go back to the two crates. There was one, containing a lock box full of gold, and a second, containing an empty lock box. However, at the time the second crate was loaded on the _Darling Dorotka_ and until after it was unloaded, it also contained something else."

Wilde paused a moment, and seemed to preen as Trunkaby and I leaned eagerly in. "Mercury," he said at last.

"Mercury?" Trunkaby asked.

"Yes, mercury. It's quite clever, actually. Mercury is almost as dense as gold, and as the metal remains liquid at room temperature could easily fill the space in the crate around the lock box; it did not take very much space at all. My examination of the remains of the crate showed that a rather extraordinary amount of care had been put into making it impermeable; it would be pointless to seal a lock box up so tightly, but quite necessary in this case to ensure that the mercury did not leak out. A chemical examination of the minute traces left on the inside of the crate confirmed my suspicion, and from there it was simply a matter of establishing who had access to two tonnes of mercury and when the exchange of crates was made."

I recalled the piece of paper with its little stains that had been shoved between the pages of Wilde's journal, and supposed that it was the record of his testing. "The knothole, of course, was how the mercury was drained from the lock box after the crate was weighed. The thieves erred on the side of caution and put in a bit more than two tonnes worth, just to ensure that it would pass, but the variance was within the scale's margin of error and no one thought to question it."

"Though my memory is, naturally, superlative, I wished to confirm my suspicion as to the origin of the mercury, and this was the means by which I did so."

He pulled out the copy of the _Annals of the New Yak Academy of Sciences_ and opened the article on the processing of silver ores. "I was correct, though, that the extraction of silver from ores through the patio process relies upon significant quantities of mercury, and one of the most costly failures of the Furis branch of Lemming Brothers, as chronicled in the stockholder's report, was investing in a failing mine."

I had read the same material that Wilde had, but I would have never come to the same conclusions; I found myself amazed yet again by his talents at deduction. "Mr. Lemmineaux therefore struck me as a likely suspect, as I considered he might harbor some resentment for being passed over for the job of managing the Furis branch when his incompetent boss was forced out. The two years from 1879, when that occurred, to the present gave him enough time to learn the details of the gold shipments while avoiding suspicion himself. He was never entrusted with the combination to the vault, and so by making the theft appear to occur after the crate was secured there attempted to give himself an alibi. Further, he was able to make surreptitious engagements, likely through a number of intermediaries, to arrange for the purchase of an identical lock box and fill its keyhole with lead, arrange for the construction of a suitable crate, and transfer a quantity of the remaining worthless mining supplies that the Lemming Brothers bank owned to get the mercury.

"Of course, the plan hinged entirely upon knowing when the crate would arrive in Zootopia and having his own crate on the same ship so that the exchange could be made. As a security precaution, Lemming Brothers would pick at random one of five bonded secure transportation services and notify them in advance, lest the precious cargo lay in wait with no one available to transport it.

"Having secured the cooperation of one of the five companies, Lemmineaux simply had to wait for them to be selected. I interviewed the guards who oversaw the transfer of the crate from the ship onto the Alces carriage myself, and they struck me as particularly careless. They did not even go into the cargo hold of the _Darling Dorotka_ themselves, and my visit to the fish and chip shop of the captain's wife confirmed that the crew of the _Darling Dorotka_ could not have unloaded a crate weighing more than two tonnes themselves."

"How did you manage that?" I asked, "I was there with you in the shop and saw nothing of the sort."

Wilde smiled indulgently. "You saw, Dr. Hopps, but you did not observe. Mrs. Lutrinaski had a number of photographs of the good captain and his crew on the walls, including one from but a month back. None of the mammals on his crew was any larger than I am, and even with all paws engaged they would not have the strength to lift the crate."

"Therefore, the hardy mammals of the Alces company were the only ones who could exchange the labels on the crates, and then drain out the mercury from the crate that contained an empty lock box before delivering it to the bank. Lemmineaux anticipated that the lock box would be sent to Goredian to determine how it was defeated, and planned to then obtain the key and open the lock box containing the gold, which was being held at the Alces warehouse. It would then have been quite simple for the thieves to pour lead into the lock of the lock box that had contained the gold and exchange it with the second lock box again before making the delivery.

"Goredian would conclude that the lock box was opened with the key, and even if Lemming's alibi was perfect, he would surely fall under suspicion and likely be forced out. It was, I admit, a rather cunning plan that I was able to entirely defeat when I took with me the key that the thieves so desperately needed. The rest of Lemmineaux's plan worked quite well, however; it was doubtlessly him who informed the papers of the theft, and he ensured that the run on the bank became a riot by forcing predators to give up their positions in line to prey. His grudge against Lemming has, I think, been taken to very nearly the heights of revenge."

Trunkaby sat back, seeming to puzzle through Wilde's explanation, and after a moment her eyes widened. "Which means—"

"The gold is in the lock box at our feet, yes," Wilde interrupted, and pulled forth the key Trunkaby had given him before we entered the bank with a flourish.

He slid the key into the keyhole and turned it; the key turned smoothly and I could hear a series of sharp clicks as the mechanisms that held the lid closed disengaged. Wilde grabbed one of the handles set into the lid and gave it a mighty pull that did not budge the lid so much as an inch. The fox frowned. "This would have been rather more dramatic, were I strong enough to lift this lid," he admitted.

Trunkaby laughed. "Even the great Nicholas Wilde has his limits," she said, with a smile rather unlike her usual dour expression, "I'll round up some constables and we'll get this into the vault."

* * *

Wilde looked at the lock box that had been recovered from the warehouse and transferred back into the bank's vault. It had been opened, and through the loose cotton fabric wrapping the bars I could see the unmistakable luster of an absolute fortune in gold. Mr. Lemming, who had watched the constables open the lock box from Garou's palm, did not seem to have his mood improved at all by the sight.

"A small comfort this is," Lemming said bitterly as he looked down at the gold, sounding entirely defeated, "We may have the gold, but the board will still have my head for this."

When first I had met the lemming, I had considered him to be cruel and heartless, and had even remarked to Wilde that I would not mind much if the gold was never recovered. Having heard that Lemming had not been responsible for ordering prey to be served before predator, I reconsidered my opinion of the mammal. He was doubtlessly bigoted against foxes, that much I was sure of, but I found myself having some sympathy for him. I suspected that Wilde, despite being the target of Lemming's attitude when first they met, felt the same, for the fox replied, "Consider it the cost of doing business," but did not seem to take any satisfaction at the lemming's loss.

If anything, he seemed almost disappointed, but the moment passed and he looked up into Garou's face. "Besides, I would daresay you have not lost everything of value to you."

The she-wolf's fingers curled protectively around Mr. Lemming, and the look she gave Wilde had a mild warning in it. She turned her attention down to her employer. "My... loyalty is to you, sir, not the bank," she said, her husky voice low.

Mr. Lemming looked up at her with what appeared to be genuine affection, and then squared his minuscule shoulders. "If this bank won't have me, we'll start over elsewhere. Why, what can't we do together?"

Garou nodded as she carried her boss away, and I gave the departing pair a lingering glance. The wolf had always seemed so taciturn to me, but she was now engaged in what appeared to be an earnest conversation with her employer. "Well," Wilde said, interrupting my thoughts with a clap of his paws, "I do believe that settles events here. Trunakby, if you could be so good as to stop by my flat to-morrow with my payment, the good doctor and I shall take our leave."

The elephant nodded. "I'll have my carriage take you," she said, and she was as good as her word.

Wilde and I passed the ride in silence; I could not speak for my flat-mate, but I was feeling incredibly tired and was too consumed with my own reflections to give much thought to conversation.

Once our carriage arrived at Barker Street, I looked at the staircase leading up to our flat somewhat dubiously. Even with the support of the umbrella, the pain in my leg, which had started throbbing, would make it the devil's work to go up the stairs, but Wilde noticed my trepidation and wordlessly offered me a paw. I gratefully took it, but Wilde surprised me by sweeping me off my feet and carrying me across his arms up the flight of stairs. By the time he had reached the top step, he was puffing somewhat and he gave me a wry grin, his muzzle only inches from mine. "This was rather easier when our lives were on the line," he admitted, and then paused before crossing the threshold to the flat.

"Don't take any ideas into your head, now," he warned before carrying me in, and I felt my ears redden in embarrassment at his insinuation.

There were times when I absolutely could not believe his cheek, but I knew it was simply in the fox's character and he meant nothing by it. "I would remind you that Trunkaby returned my revolver," I said with mock severity.

Wilde arched an eyebrow. "It had not escaped my notice," he said, and gently set me down upon my bed.

He shut the door to my bed-room after himself, and I let out a long breath I had not realized I had been holding. It seemed as though my eyelids had become impossibly heavy, and any thoughts of changing vanished. It must have been only moments after my head hit my pillow that I fell asleep.

* * *

I was awoken by a heavy tread upon the staircase that lead to the door to our flat, which I supposed could only be Trunkaby. Consciousness brought with it the pain in my bad leg, which was not quite so terrible as I had feared, though still worse than usual. When I gingerly stood and supported myself with my cane, it was not unbearable, and I decided against a dose of salicin, which had never entirely agreed with me. The orange dress that I still wore was somewhat torn and stained from the tumble I had taken, but I judged the blemishes to not be too noticeable. Besides, I was too curious as to hear what Trunkaby had to say to bother changing, instead making my way out of my bed-room.

I could not tell how long Wilde had been awake, but he certainly seemed fresher than I doubtlessly looked, sitting in an armchair with his shirt completely unwrinkled and his collar impeccably starched. I had arrived in the sitting room only moments after Trunkaby, who was standing somewhat awkwardly as none of the furniture was nearly so large as she needed, to say nothing of the ceiling. "Dr. Hopps," she said with an efficient nod of her head before turning her attention back to Wilde.

"Your payment, Mr. Wilde" Trunkaby said, delicately plucking an envelope from the inside of her jacket with her trunk and giving it over to Wilde.

The fox opened the envelope and briefly rifled through the contents, and I saw the elephant's eyes bulge in offense that he would dare count it. "This seems to be in order," he said cheerfully, dropping the envelope onto the little side table by his chair, "I'll leave the little business of seeing justice served to you."

"For five of them, at least," Trunkaby said sourly, "Lemmineaux took his own life in his cell last night."

I could have sworn a saw a spark of something in Wilde's eyes, but I may have been mistaken, for he simply lit his pipe casually and took a long draw. I could not hold my tongue, however, and asked, "By what method?"

The elephant turned her attention to me. "Strychnine," she said, "He must have brought it in with him."

I repressed a shudder at the thought, for I could imagine few more painful ways to die. "You are sure it was suicide, though?" I asked, recalling the threat of death that Weaselton had told me about for any mammal who dared to kill Wilde.

The elephant gave me a hard look. "Quite sure. There was no poison in his food or drink, and no murderer alive could force him to eat poison without leaving a trace of having done so, to say nothing of avoiding disturbing the guards. Wouldn't you say so, Mr. Wilde?"

Wilde stood up somewhat stiffly, and I supposed that the injury to his back, in addition to the blows he had suffered in the warehouse, still pained him. "I would say that your guards ought to be more careful inspecting those who are admitted to your cells," he said, looking up at Trunkaby with a mild expression on his face.

Her lip coiled briefly. "I suppose so," she agreed grudgingly at last, and I thought that if Wilde considered the matter closed I would lay my own lingering doubts to rest.

"Good day, Mr. Wilde, Dr. Hopps," Trunkaby said, and turned to leave even before either of us could respond in kind.

"Give my regards to Chief Inspector Bogo," Wilde called after her retreating back, and she gave only a brusque nod of acknowledgement.

Once the elephant was down the stairs, Wilde moved to one of the windows in our sitting room and watched Trunkaby's massive frame vanish into the crowded street. I joined him, watching the incredible variety of mammals going about their days as I reflected on the events of the previous days. After a moment, he leaned over and, in a conspiratorial whisper, said, "She's actually quite fond of me, you know."

"I would not have guessed it, from her words," I said.

Wilde made his way back to his chair and sat down before replying. "It does not do to read too much into a mammal's words—it is their actions that show them for what they are," Wilde said, his eyes closed as he inhaled deeply from his pipe.

I nodded, willing enough to accept his words, though in the particular case he had chosen as an example I did not believe her actions showed any real affection for the fox. Still, a thought occurred to me and I had to question Wilde. "And what of your actions?" I asked, "When do you plan on moving out?"

Wilde opened his eyes and looked around our suite ruefully. Although the worst of the mess had been tidied up, the front door was still off its hinges and it looked as though there had been no salvaging his little laboratory; most of the delicate glass had shattered when it struck the floor. "I'm afraid I may not have the spare funds for quite some time, present payment notwithstanding," he said, giving a glance first at the envelope Trunkaby had given him and then at the meager remains of his chemical apparatuses, "Besides, I have come to rather enjoy the location. And the company, somehow."

I smiled. "They are both agreeable enough," I said, and we lapsed into a companionable silence that lasted until my stomach gave a rumble, and I realized that in the course of the events that had transpired, I had not eaten anything since breakfast the previous day.

I considered summoning Mrs. Armadillo, but then a better idea struck me. "Would you care to join me for breakfast at the Hartebeast?" I asked, "It would be my great pleasure to treat you, in light of your financial difficulties."

Wilde laughed. "I suppose someone must help you spend your pension," he said, as he eased himself out of his chair and picked up his jacket.

I shook my head; he really was a fox like none other. I grabbed my shemagh and wrapped it round my neck while Wilde did up the buttons of his jacket by the doorway. Once we were both appropriately attired for the cool air of October, Wilde gestured for me to leave our flat first. I headed out into the bright light of the late morning, and my friend followed after.

* * *

**Author's notes:** Wilde's cryptic claim to have provided clues as to what was going on in the warehouse is true, though quite subtle. His lines in chapter 17 are all from Shakespeare and are attempts at giving hints; he quotes _Hamlet_ from when Hamlet is feigning insanity (analogous to him pretending to be incapacitated from the ACE mixture) and also quotes _Henry V_ , an indicator that there are five mammals in the warehouse. The original Sherlock stories are chock full of unexplained literary allusions and untranslated quotes, but I've always tried to explain the references that I make.

A "Black Maria" is a slang term for a prisoner transport wagon that was in use in the 19th century, and to a limited extent is still used in the UK today.

In case anyone is curious about the math: gold has a density of 19,300 kg/m^3, while mercury has a density of 13,593 kg/m^3. Two tonnes is 2000 kg, which means that two tonnes of gold has a volume of about 0.10 m^3, while two tonnes of mercury has a volume of about 0.15 m^3. If the gold were arranged as one solid block rather than as bars, it would be a cube 0.46 meters a side (about 18 inches), while the mercury (if it were solid) could form a cube 0.53 meters on a side (about 21 inches).

The patio process, which was developed in 1554, takes advantage of mercury's ability to form an amalgam with silver at room temperature. Ore containing silver compounds is crushed and mixed with salt, water, copper sulfate, and mercury and allowed to sit in the sun in a shallow enclosure (a patio, hence the name) while being mixed. The salt water and copper sulfate react with the silver ore to bring out the silver, which then forms an amalgam with the mercury. The amalgam can then be evaporated to recover the silver. As you might expect, this process was terrible for the environment and for the workers who performed it; the inhalation of mercury vapor causes damage to the nervous system. Indeed, one of the possible origins of the phrase "mad as a hatter" is that it came from observing the peculiar behavior of hat makers caused by mercury poisoning. Elemental mercury was used in the production of felt, commonly used to make hats, so hat makers had significant exposure to it.

The joke that detective Wilde makes before carrying Dr. Hopps into their flat is in reference to the tradition in the western world for newlywed husbands to carry their brides across the threshold of their homes.

1881 is too early for aspirin, which was invented in 1899. However, willow bark has been used since antiquity for the treatment of inflammation and pain, with the active ingredient being salicylic acid. Aspirin's active ingredient is acetylsalicylic acid, closely related to salicylic acid, but has less severe side effects. Thus, the best equivalent at the time, salicin or another preparation of salicylic acid, would have unpleasant side effects, such as an upset stomach, diarrhea, and/or dizziness. Dr. Hopps's decision not to take a dose of salicin is therefore pretty understandable.

Wilde's shirt and collar being referred to as separate items is a reflection of Victorian fashion, when men's shirts had a detachable collar that would be starched to the point that it could be a health hazard—there were instances when men would pass out sitting up and the stiff collar would suffocate them as their head tilted forward. Women definitely drew the shorter end of the stick in terms of impractical and dangerous clothes, but men didn't get off scot-free either.

Strychnine was first isolated in 1818 from Saint Ignatius' beans, and was in common use in the 19th century as a rat poison. It'll kill most animals, excluding a few that have evolved an immunity to strong alkaloids like fruit bats or an ability to digest it like some insects. In the world of Zootopia, I cannot imagine rat poison ever being a thing that there would be a market for. They would have insects and birds as their main pests, but small rodents would be considered thieves if they stole, not pests, and I can't imagine it being legal in that world any more than it would be in ours to deliberately leave out poison in an attempt to kill thieves. Although since it seems all mammals have normal human intelligence, they would presumably be too smart to eat it anyway. Still, even without it being used for rodent control, strychnine is fairly effective against birds and insects, and I think that it would plausibly be readily available in Victorian Zootopia.

As an aside, in yet another example of the lack of care the Victorian era showed towards dangerous chemicals, strychnine also enjoyed some popularity in the late 19th and early 20th century as a performance enhancer in small doses, out of the belief that it would increase strength. Please do not attempt this, as there's no evidence that it works and, unless you happen to be a fruit bat (which I very much doubt) you could very easily kill yourself. Strychnine poisoning is an unpleasant way to go, as it causes painful convulsions and immobility with death occurring due to paralysis of the nerves that control breathing.

Dr. Hopps's shemagh, first mentioned in chapter 3, is accurate to what real British soldiers brought back from Afghanistan when they returned from the Second Anglo-Afghan War. As described, a shemagh is a square of cloth used as a headscarf that can be worn several different ways, with Dr. Hopps favoring folding it in half and wearing it like a standard scarf.

That's about it for my comments about this chapter, so now I'd like to comment on the story as a whole. I tried writing this to be true to the spirit of the original Sherlock Holmes stories, which are typically impossible for the reader to solve; I hope, though, that you find the solution clever, and I did leave a lot of clues throughout the story as to how the theft was done, even if determining the responsible party really wasn't possible.

There are a fair number of plot threads that were planted in this story that didn't come to fruition; Dr. Hopps never gets directly called out on her prejudice, there's no explanation of the significance of Wilde's earlier cases or who the vixen is that he keeps a portrait of in his watch, and a few others. There is a reason of this. When the idea for this story came to me, it came as part of an overarching story that really explores the relationship between the two main characters. Dr. Hopps does something incredibly brave and selfless for Wilde by going to rescue him without any expectation or desire for reward. But, unlike Judy by the end of the movie, it's clear that she's still quite prejudiced, even though she considers Wilde a friend in the very last line. For his part, Wilde chooses not to move out, and indirectly acknowledges that her actions show her to be a good mammal even if her words occasionally don't. There's still a lot of room for their relationship to deepen, be challenged, and change, which subsequent stories will explore while also delving into more Sherlock-style mysteries.

The immediate sequel to this story, which I am working on finishing up now, picks up a few months later right around Christmas of 1881 and only a few days before Dr. Hopps starts her teaching job. That is, however, not the next story that I'm going to post. Next week I'll be back with something new and completely unrelated to either this story or the first story I ever wrote. If you were hoping for a sequel to either, I'm sorry to disappoint, but those will come when I think they are ready to be shared.

Once again, I want to thank you, the reader, for your support. It was a pleasure to write this story, and I can only hope that it was a pleasure to read. I'd be very grateful to know, now that this story has come to an end, what you thought of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this story for awhile, and as always I appreciate any comments or criticisms that you have. I've put some thought into how different Victorian-era Zootopia would be compared to modern day Zootopia, and I hope that you'll find my little bits of world-building interesting. This story obviously owes a lot to the Sherlock Holmes stories, specifically a Study in Scarlet in this case. As noted in the summary, however, this is an original mystery and not a retelling of a Sherlock Holmes story using characters from Zootopia.
> 
> When it comes to the characters, the mapping that I've done is Judy to Watson and Nick to Sherlock, but I put some thought into it. I figured that, personality wise, it was closest; the Sherlock of Doyle's stories is frequently arrogant and acts superior, with a snarky and sarcastic wit, and Watson is a capable and passionate man who finds himself directionless following the loss of his career.


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